


Riding Out the Storm

by xenascully



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sick Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters travel to eliminate a deadly apocalypse-freed entity. But will they be able to stop it before it stops them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Middle

Dean was running...

All he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the heaviness of his breath in his ears.

All he could feel was the impact of each moment his boots met the earth.

All he could think was that he needed to get to Sam.

Sam...

"Sam!" he shouted out as he got closer to the clearing in the vast area of woods. "Sam, where are you?" he called out.

Then he saw him... He was lying on the ground on his back; the carcass that remained of the creature he'd finally managed to kill, lay burning just a few feet away.

Dean stopped for a moment; frozen in a bit of panic as he appraised his brother from across the field. He swallowed back down the bile that rose at the mere thought of the possibility...

Upon seeing Sam's chest rise and fall, Dean was suddenly thrown back into action, and he quickly closed the space between them, coming to land on his knees beside his fallen younger sibling.

"Sammy?" he reached his hands down, only able to let them hover just above Sam's tattered shirt. He moved, instead, to cup his brother's face, gripping it on either side. "Sammy, c'mon. Can you hear me? Need you to wake up, kiddo. Gotta get you outta here."

A crackling noise caused Dean to glance over at the burning corpse for a moment.

"Dea-?" Sam's whispered voice pulled Dean's attention back to his brother.

"Sam," he let out a breath. "You okay? Did she get you?" he asked with concern written clearly on his face.

"I...I dunno. I-" his eyes narrowed as his face scrunched up. His head twisted, tilting to the side in a bit of confusion. Then his face suddenly slackened completely; his eyes filling with a knowing fear.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice came only as a whisper.

And then, Sam's body tensed; his back arching violently off of the ground.

Sam screamed...


	2. 2 Days Earlier

2 Days Earlier...

Sam Winchester slowly looked up from the newspaper that sat on the table between them at the diner, at his older brother, who was shoving yet another chicken finger into his mouth before the other one had been completely chewed. His cheeks were sticking out, abnormally, as he chewed. But there was a look of complete bliss on his face, and noises of satisfied appreciation to accompany it.

Sam couldn't help the amused smirk. Some things never changed, and he was kinda glad for that. When Dean opened his eyes, Sam immediately shook his head and feigned annoyance, before forking some salad into his own mouth.

He looked back down at the paper in front of him.

"Dude, these are the best chicken fingers I've had in years!" Dean proclaimed. "I'm thinkin' about checking out the owner. Ya know, just to make sure he didn't make some kinda crossroads deal or somethin'," he smirked.

"Do you think you could at least swallow before speaking? Maybe hold the menu in front of your face or something..." Sam raised his brows as he brushed the offending projectile crumbs from the newspaper.

"Grumpy," Dean picked up his drink and took a long sip. "That's what happens when you only eat rabbit food. Food's supposed to make you happy, Sammy; not just keep you alive," he grinned, shortly, then returned to his eating.

After blotting a grease stain from the paper, the article it had landed on, grabbed his attention. He narrowed his eyes as he read. "Hey, listen to this," he glanced up for a moment before returning his gaze to the paper. "Thirty-three year old local man dies of unnatural causes. He was found in his apartment late last night. Doors were locked from the inside. But neighbors heard him screaming and called the police. When they found him, he was already dead, lying on the couch. He was the only one home. Officer Hadley says, 'I've never seen anything like it, the way we found him. There's no way to describe it. Coroner doesn't even know what happened to the poor guy.'" Sam looked up at Dean. "Sounds like something we should look into, right?"

"Bobby said something weird was going on around here," Dean agreed as he picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth. "Long as we can come back here for more of this stuff, I'm game."

"Uh...by 'local', I actually..." Sam began, but wavered a bit at Dean's suddenly disappointed face. "This paper is from a few towns over... But, we can always come back here when we're done," he suggested. Dean looked down at the table, still seemingly unconvinced. Sam sighed and looked back down at the paper. "Oh, look! There's a festival in town there," he tried to sound excited, for his brother's sake.

"What kind of festival?" Dean looked a little hopeful as he met Sam's eyes again.

"A Spring Fling," Sam read. "There's gonna be live music, dancing...oh, and a pie-eating contest." He met Dean's eyes again, just as they lit up.

"Sounds like my kinda festival, Sammy," he smirked as he stood, suddenly feeling rejuvenated. "Let's get outta here."

Sam gathered his things and followed him out of the diner, smiling to himself. With Dean, when it came to food, it was oftentimes like dealing with the inner-child of this usually stoic man.

Yes...Dean Winchester. When he was just four years old, he carried a six month old Sam out of their burning home. Dean Winchester pretty much raised Sammy from that day forward, in place of their father who was hellbent on vengeance. Dean Winchester battled demons and monsters his whole life, and protected Sam; helped train him up to be the man he was today. Dean Winchester always pulled Sam out of whatever mess he ended up in.

Sam Winchester never once heard of a hero, big or small, that he could ever look up to like he did his big brother. Dean was his hero, whether he'd ever admit that or not. Even with his flaws and weaknesses, he wouldn't trade that place he held him to. In fact, those flaws and weaknesses made him love him all the more. Especially the food thing; that just gave him something to be a little better at. Sam was a health-nut, to an extent. It was part of his nice little package of OCD. Trying to get his brother to stop eating all the junk food was a goal he knew he'd probably never reach. But the fact that he could convince him to put some lettuce and tomato on a monstrosity of bacon and cheese-smothered patty of beef, now and then, was one small grace.

Something else Sam could say he was a little better at, was going in prepared. Dean was a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of guy. But Sam did the research. Not only did he want to, but the OCD kind of wouldn't let him do otherwise. He needed to do it. It was ingrained in his psyche. And it was probably a really good thing, too.

Sam balanced them out. Though he wasn't always as experienced as Dean, Dean had never thought of him as his 'sidekick'. They were a team, always. They completed each other like a Venn diagram or a single soul that was too precious to risk on just one person. As if God had split it up into two people to protect its very nature.

"Dude, what the hell are you thinkin' about, so hard, over there?" Dean pulled Sam from his thoughts, and he realized that they were in the Impala, heading out of town.

"Nothin'," Sam replied.

"Well, awesome. 'Cause I've got no idea where I'm supposed to be goin', and I could use some navigation, here."

Sam sighed. Yeah. Personal GPS system, activated...

11 00 11 00 11

"Hi," Dean smiled at the receptionist at the front desk at the County morgue. "We're with the CDC," he flashed his badge, as did Sam, both closing them and tucking them back in their pockets before the pretty blonde had a chance to look too closely. "We're here to see the body of Artie Sanders."

"Oh my god...the CDC?" she whispered, worriedly. "Y-you think this guy had some kinda disease? That's what killed 'im?"

"That's what we're here to find out..." Sam glanced at her name tag, "Benny," he smiled.

She nodded, "Okay. Um...Carl's gone to lunch, but I'll take you back there," she stood and walked around the desk. "Gosh...if this is a disease, shouldn't we all be getting tested or something?"

"I think if it were that easy to catch, someone else would've gotten sick by now," Dean assured her.

"You sure? I've got two kids at home... If there's some epidemic, and we should leave town, you'll tell me, right? I won't tell anyone and start a panic...I swear..."

"Ma'am," Sam put a hand on her shoulder, "I promise, we won't let anything happen to you or your kids, alright? If something's wrong, I'll make sure you're taken care of."

Benny visibly relaxed. "Thanks." She smiled, then, and led them to the room. "He's in fridge eight. Just be sure to leave the autopsy report in there when you're done. The sign-in sheet is on the desk in the corner. Check out with me when you're done."

"Thanks, Benny," Dean gave her a small smile and waited for her to close the door, to turn back toward Sam. "Okay, let's get this show on the road," he said as he and Sam each put on a pair of latex gloves and approached the fridge she'd directed them to. He pulled open the hatch and reached down to pull out the drawer.

Sam pulled the cloth down that had covered the body, and they both cringed. Aside from the obvious autopsy Y-incision stitching, Sanders' torso was covered in marks that resembled deep scratches. His hands were covered in dried blood.

"Self-inflicted?" Sam guessed, then picked up the report that laid on the man's chest.

"Dude, is this it?" Dean stepped around the drawer to examine closer. "I don't even understand why this guy died... So he's got some scratches. What had Officer whatshisface so riled up?"

"Hadley," Sam said.

"What?"

"His name was Officer Hadley," he said without looking up from the report. Dean made a face, but Sam ignored it. "Apparently, the wound that they surmise killed Sanders, is on his back," he said. "He bled out. But they haven't been able to determine what caused the wound," he placed the report down on another table. "Here; help me turn him over."

Dean moved back around the drawer and grabbed across the body, assisting to turn Sanders onto his side. Sam flinched and cocked his head when the wound came into view. Dean leaned over to get a look. "Holy crap," he blurted out when he saw the gaping hole. "What the hell happened to this guy?"

Sam took off one of the gloves and pulled out his phone, snapping a picture of the wound. "I dunno. But...it looks like..." his sentence drifted off as he stuck the phone back into his pocket and crouched down to look directly at the hole.

"Looks like...?"

His face pinched as he met Dean's eyes again, "It...looks like something...ate its way out..."


	3. Hungry?

Their motel room was much like any other room they'd ever been in; cheap and tacky, with a hint of cleanser smell that, for the most part, covered up the evidence of previous tenants.

Dean was just coming out of the shower; the need to 'wash the town off him', becoming too powerful to continue to put off. Sam was sitting at the small table by the covered window, hard at work on his laptop.

"Find anything?" Dean asked as he headed for his bag.

"Maybe," Sam replied without looking away from the screen. "I took into account what time of year this is. Says on this website, Ostara is one of the Lesser Wiccan Sabbats and is celebrated on the Spring Equinox, most often March 21st, but varies somewhat from the 20th to the 23rd."

"Yesterday was the 20th, wasn't it?" Dean commented.

"Yeah. Christians celebrate Easter near this same time and it's based on basically the same principles," Sam explained. "Easter is actually determined in a very Pagan manner... It's always the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox."

"So, what are you saying, exactly? Are we dealing with a evil Easter bunny?" he raised his brows as he pulled on a pair of jeans.

"What?" Sam shot him an incredulous look. "No... I'm just explaining Ostara..."

"Okay, well...so what are we dealing with, do you think?"

"Well," Sam looked back at his computer, "I was thinking about what we saw at the morgue...and the fact that Ostara is a time for celebration of fertility and balance. A time when all elements within and without are brought into harmony...a time of new life and rebirth-"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dean interrupted. "You think that whatever crawled outta Sanders' body was planted there as part of some sick ritual?"

"It's the only thing that seems to make any sense," Sam grimaced a glance to his brother again. "I've checked everything else out about this town. There's nothing; no mysterious deaths or missing persons in the past year. Other than Sanders, of course. No reports of unusual activity or hauntings, Bobby said."

"So what... another god or something popping outta the woodwork? And it's hellbent on impregnating...men? With god knows what? I mean, if something did eat its way outta that guy, what was it, and where the hell is it now?"

"I have no idea the answer to any of those questions, Dean," Sam defended. "There's close to nothing to go on. Maybe we should check out Sanders' apartment; see if we can't find something the police might've missed."

"Yeah. Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed as he pulled on his jacket. "That, and we should look into whether or not this guy had any enemies."

11 00 11 00 11

Dean reentered Sanders' apartment after having talked to several of the neighbors. Sam was crouched down on the floor beside the couch. "Didn't get much outta the neighbors, except that he was mostly a private man," Dean told him as he approached. "That, and he was dating a pretty redheaded girl for about a month. She stopped comin' around about a week ago. No one knows her name, so I guess we need to try and talk to his family."

"Which we might be able to do tomorrow," Sam said. "They're flying in to make funeral arrangements."

"How do you know that?"

"Benny said something about it."

"When did you talk to Benny?" he sounded offended, and Sam looked up at him, furrowing his brow and cocking his head to the side a bit.

"On the way out," he replied. "I checked us out at the front desk while you headed back to the car, remember?"

"Oh," Dean shrugged and let out a small laugh. Then, almost as quickly, pasted on a serious face. "You find anything in here?"

"A lot of dried blood," he replied, looking back down at the couch as he pulled off one of the cushions. "Oh...oh gross," Sam grimaced and Dean moved around the couch to his side.

"What is it?"

"It's uh...it looks like...part of Sanders," he replied, pulling a tissue from a box on the coffee table, and retrieving the small bit of flesh that had fallen into the couch. Dean's eyelid twitched and he had to swallow a bit of bile that had begun to rise in his throat. Sometimes, Sam did the grossest things.

"Dude...what're you gonna do with that?"

"I'm looking at it," Sam defended.

"Do I need to be here for this?"

Sam raised his brows and looked over at his older brother, whose face was a slight tint of green. "No, Dean. You can go wait in the car, if you like. I think there's a teddy bear in the back seat."

Dean stood up and gave him his best 'bitch-face'. "Yeah... It's your teddy bear," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Sam decided to let it go, and went back to examining the bit of flesh. After a moment, he cocked his head to the side. "Hey," he glanced at his brother. "Got something I could write on?"

Dean glanced around the living room and spotted a sticky-notepad and pen. He grabbed them and handed them to Sam. "What is it? You find somethin'?"

"There's a symbol on the skin," he said as he set the flesh down and began to sketch.

"Oh, sick," Dean turned away. "What kinda symbol?"

"I'm not exactly sure. It might be some kinda numerology...some kinda Greek symbol. I think I've seen it before."

"Great. Are you done?" he asked, impatiently.

"Yeah," he stood and glanced at the paper before tucking it into his pocket.

"Good." Dean headed toward the door with Sam close behind him. Once they were in the hallway, he turned to his younger, yet taller brother, "You hungry?"

Sam raised an incredulous brow, "Seriously?"

11 00 11 00 11

Bobby Singer had gone through so many Ancient Greek mythology and lore books, that his head ached and his eyes burned, even more than normal. Once he'd received the picture message on his phone from Sam, he'd known where to look and surmised where else to reference as far as what might be going on.

What he found, wasn't going to make Sam very happy. Bobby knew him well enough to know that. But the call had to be made; answers had to be given. They needed to kill this thing and do it fast, before all hell could break loose.

He ''sucked it up'', picked up the phone, and dialed Sam's number...

11 00 11 00 11

Dean approached the door to their motel room, a to-go bag held by his teeth, a six-pack in one hand, as the other fished into his pocket for the key. He let himself in and grabbed the bag with his now free hand, then kicked the door shut behind him.

"I got us some cheeseburgers. They didn't have salad, so I just told 'em to mix up a bunch of the toppings in a bowl for ya; lettuce, tomatoes...uh..." he paused when he saw Sam's posture where he sat on the edge of the bed farthest from the door. He was slouched over, head hanging a bit. His elbows sat on his knees and he was staring at his hands. "Sam? What's wrong with you?" he asked as he set their dinner down on the table beside Sam's closed laptop.

"Bobby called," Sam said in a low voice. Dean caught sight of Sam's cell phone, where he'd undoubtedly thrown it on the bed. "This is my fault...yet again," he cocked his jaw before clenching it.

"What're you talkin' about?" Dean asked as he approached him, sinking down across from him on his own bed.

"This is happening because of me, Dean," he couldn't even look at him. "Because I jump-started the damn Apocalypse."

"C'mon, man," Dean shook his head, a small smile passing over his face. "You don't know-"

"Yeah, I do know," he met his eyes, then. "Bobby said so. And it makes perfect sense."

"What does?" Dean furrowed his brow.

Sam looked back down at his lap. "It's Gaia."

"It's what?" Dean made a face.

Sam sighed, "A Greek goddess...kinda like mother nature, basically. You were right about it...impregnating people, sorta," he explained. "That's what Bobby thinks she's doing. He says there's an ancient transcript that was intentionally buried a long time ago, that mentions that, 'in the afterworld, or the time of great war, Gaia will rise up, piercing the bodies of her enemies and injecting them with her next meal'."

"That's...that's awesome," Dean sarcastically remarked. "I don't think I follow, exactly."

"I think what it means, basically, is that she's impregnating them with some kind of embryo of a creature, that gestates pretty fast, fattens itself up by eating its way out of its host, then is drawn back to its 'mother'...and she eats it," he made a face as he met Dean's.

"Great," he stood. "Well, look at the bright side," he forced on a smile.

"And what's that, exactly?" Sam narrowed his eyes.

"At least we're back down to lookin' for one monster."

"Right..." he replied, then looked back down at his hands.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Look, Sammy, this isn't your fault-"

"Just save it, okay, Dean?" he said in almost a whisper. "We both know whose fault it is; regardless of the fact that I didn't know... Sanders died a horrible, gruesome death, because I didn't wanna believe that I was wrong about Ruby. More people are gonna die; one each night until the end of the Spring Equinox, at which point, a whole lot of people are gonna die, if we don't stop her. And we don't have a damn clue where she is."

"We're gonna stop her, Sam," Dean assured him. "We'll find her, and then we'll stop her. We've gone out on less in the past, right? We can do this. I promise, Sammy..." he waited a moment, looking for any sign that his brother might begin to relax. After a few moments, he saw Sam let out a breath, and took the opportunity to change the subject. "Now come on; gotta eat somethin' to keep our strength up."

"Dude, how can you even think about eating after what I just got through telling you?"

Dean reached into the paper bag, pulled out a plastic-sealed bowl of salad, and tossed it to Sam. "Do you really need to ask?" Dean smirked as he walked back over with his paper-wrapped burger and two beers, handing one to his younger brother.

Sam let out a breath as he shook his head...


	4. Chick-Flick Moment

"Mrs. Sanders?" Sam greeted the woman as she stepped out of the Police station with a young lady, maybe twenty or so years old; both red-eyed from crying.

"Yes? Who are you?"

"My name is Sam Petersen," he pulled out his fake ID. "I'm with the CDC. We're looking into your son's incident. I'm so sorry for your loss," he gave her a sad smile as he tucked his ID back into his pocket.

"Thank you," she ducked her head. "Uh, my name is Gloria," she told him, reaching to shake his hand. "This is my daughter, Mandy."

"Nice to meet you both," Sam nodded. "Do you have a minute we could talk?" he asked. "My partner should be along any minute. Maybe we can go have coffee or something?"

"Oh god yes, please, Mom," Mandy sighed.

"Right...you haven't had any coffee since the airport this morning," she sighed, slightly annoyed. "Alright, Mr. Petersen-"

"Sam," he insisted, "Please."

"Sam," she smiled. "Coffee it is."

*~.~*

Dean finally showed up at the diner after receiving the text from Sam to meet them. Glancing around as he entered, he caught Sam's eyes at a booth on the far right hand side, nodded, and moved to approach them.

"Gloria, Mandy, this is my partner, Dean Jacobs," Sam introduced as Dean smiled, shook their hands and took a seat, sliding in beside Sam.

"Nice to meet you," Dean told them. "Sorry I'm late; had a phone call from our boss."

"Not in trouble, I hope?" Mandy asked, a small, flirtatious smile playing on her lips.

"No," Dean smiled back at her. "Nothin' like that. He just wants us to figure this thing out. We're kind of on a time crunch."

"What do you need from us?" Gloria asked.

"We just need to know if your son ever mentioned any names of friends or...a girlfriend, perhaps," Sam told her.

"Artie wasn't a very social person," Gloria told them. "He called me every few days to let me know how he was doing. He worked from home, mostly. But he sometimes met with his clients when they needed them to look at a problem with a policy."

"He sold insurance policies, right?" Sam verified.

Gloria nodded, "And he had a couple of friends that do the same thing, but all they ever see of each other is when there's a luncheon in town. Last that happened was maybe a week ago."

"Did he ever mention a girlfriend?" Dean pressed.

"Oh Artie didn't date-"

"Lucy," Mandy interjected. Gloria looked at her, wide-eyed, and Mandy sighed. "He didn't date her for too long, but he did have a girlfriend. He didn't tell you, Mom, 'cause you would've wanted to meet her," she defended.

"Would that have been so bad?" Gloria asked.

"He said he didn't really like her very much; gave him the creeps," Mandy shrugged.

"Well, then why on Earth would he have been..." she trailed off, not really wanting the answer.

After several awkward silent moments, Dean spoke up, "Did he happen to mention her last name?" he asked Mandy.

"I don't remember," she said. "Something like...Bennett, maybe? It'd be on his computer. That's where they met; a local online dating service."

"We didn't see a computer at his apartment," Sam narrowed his eyes.

"That's weird," Mandy replied. "Maybe he left it in his car trunk. He sometimes took it to this coffee place that's around the corner from there. They had wifi, and he liked to get mochas all evening as he worked," she smirked. But then her eyes shifted away and she was suddenly blinking back tears and she looked down at the table top, as if she had momentarily forgotten her brother was no longer alive.

Gloria looked back at her daughter and was suddenly overwhelmed as well. She put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace, laying her head on her shoulder.

Dean and Sam shared a quick glance before looking uncomfortably down at the table, feeling as though they were somehow intruding on their moment of grief. But somewhere in the backs of their minds, they were also remembering what it was like to lose their sibling, as well.

"I'm sorry," Mandy pulled from her mother and swiped the tears from her face. "It's just...it's hard to believe that he's really gone; that this really happened. I keep thinking it's some nightmare; that he's not really gone."

"You must've been close with your brother," Sam surmised, meeting her eyes.

She gave a small smile as she continued to wipe her eyes, taking a proffered napkin Dean handed to her. "He was four years older than me," she told them. "But he never treated me like a baby, not even when we were kids." She nodded at the memory, "He always protected me when it counted, ya know? When I needed him to be my big brother... He'd yell at me when I screwed up, because he didn't like to see me get hurt. But we were always close...we were always best friends..." her voice cracked.

Sam's heart ached for the girl. He reached a hand across the table to gently cover hers. "I know what it's like," he told her in a low voice. "I know how you're feeling right now." She met his eyes. "I lost my brother a couple years ago," his eye twitched, saying it out loud.

Mandy's head dropped a fraction to the side, in sympathy. "How did he die?"

"A uh...freak animal attack," he decided on. "We were close, like you and Artie. He was my big brother and he took care of me, too." Beside him, Dean tried not to squirm. "It nearly killed me," he continued. Dean couldn't help flinching. "Losing him... I was driven by...confusion and anger for a long time. Needing to have answers...needing to know why, even though it was clear that it was just...meant to happen," his eyes shifted around before settling back on hers. "And then those moments when you forget they're gone," he bore to her. "The moments after you remember that you forgot," he let out a breathy, short laugh as he nodded, "Those are the worst. A close second to...knowing there's nothing you can do to bring them back," he swallowed. And in that instant, he seemed to realize where he'd meant to take the conversation, and he had to end it a bit differently from the truth. "It gets easier," he told her. "The pain never goes away...but it gets easier."

"How?" she asked. "How did you stop being so angry and sad?"

Sam's eyes darted around for a few long moments, and Dean was now intently looking over at him, also awaiting the answer. "I just...I knew he wouldn't want me to live that way," he told her, finally. "He wouldn't want me to be upset for the rest of my life. He'd spent the greater part of his own, making sure I was safe and happy. Who was I to spend the rest of it being the opposite of what he'd tried to make it for me?"

Fresh tears streamed down Mandy's face at his words. She smiled sadly at him and turned her hand over to squeeze his...

11 00 11 00 11

Dean waited in the driver seat of the Impala, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel in beat with the song playing on the radio. He'd excused himself after Sam's story, and left him there to give them his phone number to call if they remembered anything of importance.

He wondered how much of Sam's story to Mandy was true; the end of it, anyway. He wondered if, when he'd returned, finally, and he and Bobby found him in that hotel room with the girl, they now knew was Ruby, if that had just started out as something fun; something that meant moving on...

The passenger door opening, pulled Dean from his thoughts. Sam maneuvered his long body into the car and shut the door. "Gloria gave me a copy of Artie's car key," he told Dean. "She said to just leave it under the floor mat when we're done with the computer and can bring it back again."

"Okay," he replied, simply. "Back to Artie's then?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded and put the car into reverse, then twisted to look behind them as he backed out of the space. Before putting it into drive, he glanced at Sam, who was staring down at the key as he twisted it in his fingers. "You okay?" Dean asked as they started down the road.

Sam glanced at him, not having expected the question. "Yeah," he replied, then looked back down at the key. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment of silence.

Dean glanced at him again with question on his face, "Why?"

"What I said back there... It wasn't true. The part about me moving on. I didn't...I wouldn't have."

"Sammy, c'mon," he groaned.

"I know, Dean," he sighed. Dean hated chick-flick moments. "I just...I guess I just realized that...had you been able to somehow ever see me -had you not come back- you would've been disappointed." At Dean's silence, Sam continued, "You traded your life so that I could have mine back, and I used it to be miserable; pissed and depressed and...just not wanting even live it. I don't know if I ever would've realized that by now, if you hadn't come back. And for that, I'm sorry, Dean," he looked over at his brother.

For a long moment, Dean said nothing. He didn't take his eyes from the road. He was thinking; going over in his head why Sam had been so stubborn; why he refused to move on. And although he felt he should be angry about that, and that Sam should be sorry, he couldn't bring himself to be. Instead, he felt guilty, because he knew why he couldn't have moved on. And that was his fault, too; not Sam's.

Dean took a breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, too, Sam..."


	5. Running

"Looks like Mandy was right," Sam said, glancing briefly from the screen of Artie's laptop, to his brother. "Lucy's last name is Bennett. And I think I know why she creeped Artie out," he raised his brows.

"Yeah?" Dean crossed the room to lean down beside Sam and look at the screen.

"Lucy runs a website for a store she apparently co-owns in town," Sam told him. "It sells new-age stuff. But guess what it specializes in?" he clicked on the page.

"Witchcraft and voodoo books and supplies," Dean read. "Freaking great...just what we need," he sighed. "Does that mean we're not dealing with Gaia? That what happened to Sanders has somethin' to do with voodoo?"

"I'm not sure. But it's a little too coincidental that they just recently broke up, and he died in such a strange way. And it still doesn't really explain the symbol we found on his...body...part..."

"Well, maybe she found a way to summon her?" Dean suggested. "Got her to do her dirty work, maybe?"

"You mean kinda like how Sue Ann Le Grange summoned a reaper?" Sam furrowed his brow, then raised them. "She could be using Gaia for a lot more than just this."

"Crazy doesn't usually end with just one," Dean agreed. "You think she's somehow got her trapped? Like Sue Ann had the reaper?"

"It's possible. If that's the case, we need to find whatever object Lucy figured out to use, break it, and...well..." a confused look painted his face.

"And what? Hope Gaia just quietly returns to...whatever she was doing before? What exactly is that, again?"

"Technically? Nothing," Sam shrugged. "I mean, she's a mythological goddess; mother nature... If she's not already doing her 'job', that would mean nature would be having some kind of adverse affect, and we haven't seen any signs of that."

"Maybe there's more than one mother nature," Dean suggested.

"I guess it's possible..."

"But the others are bound to their place. This one's free. Well, in a way," he made a face. "But she really will be free once we break that hold. Somethin' tells me she's not gonna wanna go back to wherever she came from."

"So we'll have to kill it," Sam concluded. "But how? Stake it, maybe?"

"We should probably confirm that with Bobby."

"If there's a manual on this..."

"Maybe we could ask Cas," Dean suggested.

"You think he'd know?" Sam cocked his head to the side in question.

"I think his guess is just as good as Bobby's, right now. Who knows how long it could take him to find that. We've got what, not even a day till the end of this equinox? Who knows what this chick has planned?"

Sam conceded to his point. "Alright. Give him a call. I'll call Bobby."

"Is this like...an open bet?" Dean smirked.

"What?" Sam furrowed his brow.

"Angel versus Hunter Hotline," he snorted.

"No," Sam raised a brow and shook his head, though a partially amused look graced his features.

"Twenty bucks."

"Fifty," Sam picked up his phone...

11 00 11 00 11

"It doesn't count if you can't get a hold of one of the parties," Dean argued as Sam smirked in the passenger seat.

"The bet was who could get the information sooner," Sam retorted.

"And neither has gotten the information," Dean shot back.

"Yeah, so...stop complaining. No one lost...yet," Sam grinned. Dean grunted in response. "So for now, we check out this Lucy chick and see if there's not already some book lying around with the answers we need."

"I freakin' hate witches," he commented.

"I know," Sam sighed.

"So if it comes down to it, I say we stake and burn. Seems like a fairly decent insurance policy."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then we run like hell," he smirked. "In fact, I say we stake and burn, and run like hell, either way. No way I'm riskin' bein' knocked up by mother nature."

Sam let out an amused laugh, right as his phone began to ring. He fished it out, glanced at the call ID, then smiled as he showed it to Dean.

"Damnit!"

"Hey, Bobby," Sam answered. Dean continued to drive, a frustrated look plastered on his face as he checked his phone. Sam's face turned from amused to serious as he fished out something to write on. Dean decided to let the bet go. Fifty bucks wasn't that big of a deal for him, anyway. He could win it back in no time.

What really mattered was being able to stop this Gaia thing before anyone else got hurt. And if Bobby had already figured it out, Dean wasn't going to complain.

"Okay. Well I'll keep the phone on. Just let us know if you find it. Thanks, Bobby," Sam ended the call.

"So?"

"So, he hasn't exactly figured out how to kill it," Sam told him as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "But he said we should stop at an herb shop and pick up a few things."

"An herb shop? Things for what?"

"An anti-parasitic, basically," Sam replied. "A really strong one. If we can't kill Gaia in time, we can at least try and save whomever she infects. With this stuff, we can mix it up and put it into syringes, inject it into the victim. It's not a guarantee, but it's all we've got."

"Well great. But where the hell are we gonna find a freakin' herb shop around here?"

"Uh, Dean?" Sam said and Dean looked over as he pointed out the window. Low and behold, there was a Nature's Herbal store in the plaza they were approaching.

"Know it all..." he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied as he pulled the car over.

11 00 11 00 11

"Artemisia? Black Walnut...cloves...prickly ash... Dude, seriously? Is this really gonna work?" Dean asked as they brought the basket to check-out.

"I dunno," Sam shrugged. "But it's worth a shot...no pun intended."

"Yeah, yeah. So how do we turn this into something we can inject? Didn't realize you had a lab, now."

"Bobby gave me instructions. We've just gotta head back to the hotel and throw it together. We've got syringes in the first-aid kit."

"We're doing this before visiting the wicked witch?"

"If we find what we're looking for when we get to her, there's not gonna be time to do this after. We need it done before we go."

Dean grumbled, making a whiny sound that reminded Sam of an impatient child. He furrowed his brow as he set the things on the check out counter and pulled out his wallet. "I know you're eager to be done with this job. But we can't go in half-cocked."

"That's what we're doin' either way, isn't it?" he argued. "We don't know if this stuff'll work. Hell, we don't even know if what we do is gonna k-" he stopped talking when the cashier glanced up at them.

Sam looked over at the cashier, then, too, and gave the curious little man a small smile before turning back to his brother. "Look. I know how you feel about this. It's my first time with this kinda thing, too, remember? Important thing right now, is that we're safe about it. Right?"

Dean sighed in resignation, glancing back and forth between Sam and the cashier. Sam turned back to the cashier and ran his card through the machine. He nodded to the man who handed him his bagged items. As they moved to leave, the man gently grabbed Dean's arm, causing him to stop and look at him, slightly pissed.

"Don't worry, honey," he told him in a very flamboyant manner. "I'm sure he'll take real good care of you." He winked and gave him a toothy grin.

Dean shrugged out of his grasp as he realized that the guy had completely misread their conversation. "Dude...no! That's not... I mean really? What does any of the stuff we just got have anything to do with..." he let out a frustrated sigh. "Forget it," he turned and ran to catch up to his brother.

11 00 11 00 11

"You did that on purpose, didn't you," Dean accused as he paced in the hotel room.

"What're you talking about?" Sam asked as he continued his work with the serum.

"Don't play dumb, Sam! What you said in the store! You knew exactly what he'd think we were talking about."

Sam let out a breathy laugh, "Chill out, Dean. You're the one who was talking about stuff you shouldn't have been. I needed to cover for us."

"I swear, by the time we retire, there's gonna be people in every city in America who think we're a freaking couple."

"Since when do you care what other people think?" Sam raised a brow.

"I don't!" he defended.

Sam just shook his head as he filled a second syringe. Dean grew impatient and picked up the one that was filled and capped. Sam shot him a look, "What're you doing?"

"I'm gonna head over there."

"I'm not done! You shouldn't go there alone, anyway."

"So I'll walk," he said. "By the time I get there, you'll be done. Take the Impala and meet me there." He set the keys on the table.

"Dude, what's your problem? We shouldn't split up right now; she could be anywhere!"

"I've got this," he held up the syringe. "I'll be fine. I'm not standing around waiting anymore, Sam. I want done with this job and outta this town. I'm not doing anything constructive standing here watchin' you." With that, he turned and headed out the door.

Sam looked on, incredulously, at the door. He wasn't sure what, exactly, had crawled up Dean's ass. Whether or not it had anything to do with what was said in the store. He knew he wasn't thrilled about the job, but when were they ever? Torn between giving in and running after him, and finishing with the serum, Sam was saved by the ringing of his phone...

11 00 11 00 11

Dean strode purposefully up the block, the anti-parasitic safely tucked away in the pocket inside his jacket. He wasn't angry at Sam. He was just frustrated and impatient. He didn't like feeling useless, and that's how he'd felt standing in that room. Sam's little show in the store hadn't helped. But he wasn't upset. Hell, he'd done worse, himself.

But knowing Sammy, he was probably sitting in that room feeling like he'd done something wrong. That just made Dean feel worse. He should probably apologize...

He heard his ringtone begin blaring in his pocket and was quick to fetch it out. He was even more relieved to see that it was Sam calling.

"Hey," he answered. "Look, I'm sorry if I was a jerk-"

"It's cool, Dean. Listen," Sam sounded impatient on the other line. "Bobby called. He said he found some excerpts from an Ancient Greek scroll that speaks of Gaia being risen in a field surrounded by the dead. He thinks Lucy might've buried the binding spell box there. We just have to find it and burn it. Then, technically, she should burn, too."

"Sounds like a party. How do we find a field surrounded by the dead?" Dean asked.

"I already have," he replied. "When we were in town having coffee with the Sanders', we passed by an old cemetery. Really old. In fact, there used to be a plantation there, and most of the grave-markers are for slaves that died there. There used to be a huge mansion in the middle of it that was burned down a hundred years ago. It's mostly trees now, and I'm betting a field somewhere in the middle."

"Great. So come pick me up and let's go."

"I'm already pulling up to the cemetery," he replied. "It's right around the corner from the shop. But you need to find that book before Lucy does something else stupid."

"Damnit, Sam! What happened to not splitting up?" he growled.

"You started it," he retorted. "All I'm doing is finding the spot she buried...whatever in. It's not a two-man job. Just find the book, Dean, and meet me out here."

"Fine," he ended the call and angrily shoved the phone into his pocket. Up ahead on his left, was the shop. He approached the door, looked both ways up the sidewalk before opening it, and entered. A chime rang over the door, but there didn't seem to be anyone working the front room.

Dean glanced around at the extensive amount of crystals, incense, herbs and potions...and a library worth of books. He sighed and moved toward the front counter where the cash register was. He glanced around again, suspicious as to why no one was there, then rounded the back of the desk. His foot collided with something soft and he looked down.

There at his feet, was a clearly dead man, covered in blood. Dean took a breath before crouching down, and lifted the battered and bloody back of the man's shirt. "Sorry, dude," he said as he saw the wound that matched Sanders'. "Too late to try and help you, now."

He glanced, haphazardly to his right, then did a double-take. There in the shelf beneath the register, was a black-leather bound book. He chanced to grab it, opening it and flipping through the pages. It was written in, what he could only assume was Greek. "Yahtzee," he said under his breath before standing and making his way back around the counter. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam.

"Hey," a winded Sam sounded on the other line. "I think I might've found where it's buried. It was easier than I thought 'cause most of this field is green. There's just this one unearthed spot..."

"Awesome. Well, I think I found the book," he told him. "What should I do with it? Burn it?"

"No! No, don't do that. We might need it."

"For what?" he asked, incredulously.

"I doubt it's the only one in existence. There might be something useful Bobby could get from it, if something like this happens again."

"Right," he tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice sounded behind him and he turned to see, who had to be, Lucy. "Can I help you with something?"

"Uh...hey, dude, I gotta go," he told Sam. "I'll be there in a minute." He tucked the phone into his pocket. "Hey," he smiled, nervously, at the woman. "I was just, uh...looking for some uh..." he glanced around at the shelves. "Some crystals!" he decided. "I just love crystals," he laughed. "They're so...sparkly."

Lucy raised a brow. "Okay," she grinned. "Well, I'm just finishing cooking up a light snack. I'm gonna go take it off the stove, if you can hang on a minute. Then I can come help you."

"Sure, no problem," he nodded. As she turned to walk back out of the room, he noticed a smear of blood on her skirt, as if she'd wiped off her hand on it. He came to a sick realization and had to swallow down a bit of bile.

He pulled out his phone again and redialed. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he murmured under his breath. "Sam!" he whispered. "We have a slight problem. I think Lucy is Gaia."

"Lucy's what?"

"I said she's freaking Ga-"

"You shouldn't talk about people behind their backs," Lucy was suddenly in the doorway again, and Dean whipped around. He swallowed, audibly. "It's not polite," she said as she stuck a fork into what looked like chicken on her plate. But Dean knew it wasn't chicken. He grimaced as she put it in her mouth. "Mmm...Kevin, here, makes a good appetizer."

"That so?" Dean nervously stalled. "What'd he ever do to you?"

She cocked her head, "He was here to audit me. Not very nice," she shook her head. Suddenly, she seemed shaken and preoccupied; her eyes darting about somewhere in the air between them. She dropped the plate, and her eyes met Dean's. In the blink of an eye, she was standing centimeters in front of him. "You're trying to get rid of me," she growled. "You and your meddling brother. Not nice..." she slowly shook her head from side to side. And then, she was gone.

Dean spun around in search for her, until he realized that she must've gone after Sam.

He tore out of the store at full speed, heading toward the cemetery Sam had told him about...

11 00 11 00 11

Sam pulled the shoebox-sized container from the ground and dusted it off. He opened it and set it down in its own lid, then pulled out a container of lighter fluid and a Zippo. Drenching the contents of the container only took moments. He set the fluid can on the ground and opened the lighter.

Suddenly, he felt himself violently pulled away, and he fell hard to the ground with a grunt.

"You shouldn't go prying into other people's things," Lucy said as she crouched over him...

*~.~*

Dean was running, trying to get Sam to pick up his phone by sheer will of his mind. But it kept ringing until it hit voice mail. "Damnit!" he yelled as he rounded the corner and the cemetery sign came into view. "Sam!" he shouted as he ran...

*~.~*

Sam managed to push the woman off of him and roll away from her. "Stay away from me!" he yelled.

"I can't do that, Sam," she said, calmly. "You're trying to destroy my things." She effortlessly picked him up and slammed him back down into the ground, then climbed on top of him, straddling him. An evil grin painted her face, and for a moment, Sam saw her true, ugly form. "You didn't even ask if you could see them."

"Get off of me," he growled.

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because this is a new shirt," he told her. "And I'd rather it not get singed."

She narrowed her eyes until she heard the flick of the Zippo in Sam's hand. His outstretched arm allowed him to reach the box. "No!" she screamed as it went up in flames.

She picked him up, once more and slammed him down again before her body was engulfed in the very flame that destroyed the box. And for Sam, everything went dark...


	6. No Guts, No Glory

"Sam!" Dean shouted out as he got closer to the clearing in the vast area of woods. "Sam, where are you?"

Then he saw him...lying on the ground on his back; what remained of Lucy, lay burning just a few feet away.

Dean stopped for a moment; frozen in a bit of panic as he appraised his brother from across the field. He swallowed back down the bile that rose at the mere thought of the possibility that he'd been too late.

Upon seeing Sam's chest rise and fall, Dean was suddenly thrown back into action, and he quickly closed the space between them, sliding to his knees beside his brother.

"Sammy?" He moved to cup his brother's face, gripping it on either side. "Sammy, c'mon. Can you hear me? Need you to wake up, kiddo. Gotta get you outta here."

A crackling noise caused Dean to glance over at the burning corpse for a moment.

"Dea-?" Sam's whispered voice pulled Dean's attention back to his brother.

"Sam," he let out a breath. "You okay? Did she get you?" he asked with concern written clearly on his face.

"I...I dunno. I-" his eyes narrowed as his face scrunched up. His head twisted, tilting to the side in a bit of confusion. Then his face suddenly slackened completely; his eyes filling with a knowing fear.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice came only as a whisper.

And then, Sam's body tensed; his back arching violently off of the ground.

Sam screamed...

"Sam!" Dean panicked, grabbing hold of Sam's arms as the younger man flailed in pain.

"De-Dean! Antidote!" he managed to get out.

Dean dropped him and scrambled for the syringe in his jacket. He tore off the cap. "Where? Where do I do it?" he shouted, impatiently.

"I don't know!" Sam yelled with the wave of pain that ripped through him.

Dean thought fast, moving to flip Sam over and plunge the needle into his back, where the other victims had had their wounds. At first, Sam made no sound; didn't even take a breath. Dean was slightly afraid he might've done something wrong and accidentally killed him.

But then Sam growled out until his lungs protested it go any further. Dean flipped him back over. "Sam, you okay?" he asked as Sam breathed erratically.

Sam's eyes darted around as he tried to regain his breath, assessing how he felt; the fact that the tearing pain he'd felt earlier hadn't completely left him, but hadn't continued any farther, either. He met Dean's eyes, noting the fear in them, before nodding. "Think so," he told him and reached up for Dean's hand.

Dean helped pull him to his feet. Then Sam wavered, grabbing Dean's arm before dropping to his knees with a grunt. "Sammy?"

Immediately, Sam began to violently vomit into the grass, clutching the dirt under his hands at the effort. Dean could do nothing but stand there as the greenish goop littered the earth under his little brother. It kept coming, relentlessly, to the point Dean tried to calculate the plausibility that the human body could contain so much of anything.

But it was when Sam's struggle to get a breath in in between the heaving, that Dean really started to panic. The whimpering and obviously painful contracting of his muscles as he continued, just pushed that over the edge. Dean's hands went to his head, in panic. He was helpless; not knowing what to do...and the green was now tinged with red...

Dean knelt down beside his brother and laid a hand high on his back, trying to lend his own strength, as there seemed to be no end. He closed his eyes, willing to try anything to stop this, and prayed, "Castiel...Cas, come on...We need you down here!"

He was met only with silence. Silence? He opened his eyes as he felt Sam start to sit up. But what he'd originally thought might be the end of whatever was happening, turned out to be far from it. Sam seemed to be choking; his hands grasping desperately at the collar of his shirts and pulling, as if they were what was constricting him.

"What is it? What's happening?" Dean grabbed hold of Sam's arm. Sam's eyes squeezed shut and suddenly he was lurching forward again, gagging. What came out, caused Dean to put a hand over his mouth, as if to will his own sudden urge to vomit.

There on the ground, lay a smaller version of whatever creature had crawled out of the last two victims. And Sam, now gasping in the much needed air, was looking down at it with utter disgust as he pushed himself away, inevitably falling backward from the exhaustion. Dean caught him before he could hit the ground.

"Sam, you with me?" he pushed the long locks of brown hair from Sam's face. Sam met his eyes and nodded. "We gotta get you outta here."

"I...don't think...I can get up," Sam rasped.

"That's what I'm here for," Dean told him, then moved to help him up. Sam whimpered as he stood, then immediately fell into Dean.

"Can't..." he choked out.

Dean felt his brother's entire body shaking. "Don't worry, Sammy, I gotcha," he told him. He positioned himself, then lifted Sam in his arms to carry him.

Sam protested, albeit weakly, "'M too h'vy..."

"Yeah," Dean grunted, "I get that, Sasquatch," he said as he started carrying him across the field. "For someone who mainly eats rabbit food, this is surprising. But I've got you."

Sam's head curled into Dean's shoulder; his arms folded between their chests. But the rest of him was limp. He said nothing further, and Dean had to keep glancing down at him as he walked, just to make sure he was okay. The only tell that he was still conscious was the pain-scrunched etching in his face.

It seemed to take a lifetime to get to the Impala. He decidedly laid Sam across the back seat, grabbing a blanket from the trunk and draping it across his shaking body. He made sure Sam's feet were out of the way before shutting the door, then made his way to the driver seat, glancing around the street. He was grateful night had fallen and there seemed to be no one out and about on this side of town.

Shutting himself in behind the wheel, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Bobby, before starting the engine and throwing the car into drive.

"Hello?"

"Bobby, it's me."

"Dean? You okay, son? Ya sound like you've been through the ringer."

It wasn't until that moment that Dean realized that he, himself, was shaking, too. "Doin' better than Sam," he replied. "Gaia got him, Bobby. It's pretty bad."

"Whadya mean, she got him?"

"She got him, is what I mean," he grunted. "He ganked her, but not before she planted her 'seed'."

"Ah hell..."

"I gave him that stuff you told him to make. Had him throwin' up everything he's ever put in his body since freakin' puberty...including that...thing."

"So it ain't in 'im anymore...Well, that's good at least."

"Yeah, but he's real sick, Bobby. I dunno what to do. Do I take him to a hospital?"

"They won't know what to do with him," Bobby sighed in frustration. "Can you get 'im here?"

"I don't think he's up for the ride, right now, to be honest."

"Well, then take 'im back to your room; see if you can at least make 'im comfortable till I can figure out what's goin' on with 'im. I'll come to you, once I know. What're his symptoms?"

"He's weak; couldn't sit up on his own, let alone stand. He's shakin' real bad. He might have a fever, but I'm not somewhere where I can tell for sure, right now. I haven't been able to look him over yet."

"Well, when ya do, you give me a call back. I'll look into it. But for now, I think he might be in a bit of shock. You know the drill for that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Now what about you? You get hurt?"

"I'm fine, Bobby. Just worried about Sam."

"I find out you're lyin' to me, I'll kick your ass from here to Sunday," he said in a fatherly tone.

"You can try, old man," he smirked. "But I ain't lyin'."

"Good. I'll be expecting a call within the hour."

"Thanks, Bobby," he told him, then ended the call, just as he pulled up to their motel room door.

11 00 11 00 11

Sam was lying on his side in the middle of the bed farthest from the door. Dean had looked him over, finding only superficial wounds and treating them, before wrapping him up in a blanket. The whole while, Sam had been half-awake, but hadn't spoken. That kinda scared Dean, but he couldn't allow it to sway him from his task.

He called Bobby and let him know that there wasn't anything to add to the list just yet. Bobby told him to hang in there, and that he'd call once he knew something. Dean plugged in both of their phones to charge, and headed back around the bed to check on Sam.

He was still shaking, even with the blanket on him. "Dean?" the soft voice caused Dean to meet his brother's eyes. He crouched down beside the bed so he was level with him. "I can't...can't sleep."

"What can I do?" Dean asked.

"I dunno...I can't...stop shaking," he replied, his voice still raspy.

"Are you cold?" Sam nodded. Dean slipped off his shoes and climbed into the bed.

When they were just kids, jumping from one motel to the next, oftentimes the heat wasn't all it should've been. Sam would end up crawling into Dean's bed, just to get the warmth emanating from his older brother. And though he'd never have admitted to it, Dean had never really been annoyed. After all, he was usually cold, too.

That's the memory that flooded into his mind as he climbed under the blankets beside Sam. Though now, Sam and his abnormally long legs curled up in front of him, made it more difficult of a fit. Dean decided it really didn't matter if he, himself, was comfortable right now.

He put his arm gently around Sam's back, and felt Sam ease his head into the crook of his neck; his arms still folded in front of him, now absorbing the heat of Dean's chest. Dean let his cheek rest against the pillow of hair on the top of Sam's head. He felt Sam let out a contented sigh, then whisper, "Thanks, Dean."

After while, he felt Sam's shaking slowly subside, and his breathing even out, indicating that he'd finally fallen asleep. And for the first time since he walked out of the room that day, Dean relaxed a little. It was enough to allow the exhaustion from their evening catch up with him, and he soon followed Sam into the bliss of dreamland...


	7. Paddock

Dean was pulled from his sleep. At first, he couldn't figure out why. But then he realized the tension from the figure in front of him.

His arm was still around Sam's back, but it was clear the younger Winchester was no longer asleep. His breathing was erratic and his entire body stiff.

Dean gently pulled away a bit to try and get a look at his face. "Sam?" That's when Sam let out a sob, he'd apparently been holding in so as not to wake his older brother. Dean scrambled out of the covers so that he could get a better look at him; appraise what might be wrong. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam breathed for a moment, then replied, "Head...hurts, Dea..."

Dean ran gentle, searching fingers through Sam's hair, as if he'd find some physical evidence as to what was causing him so much pain. Pain that normally wouldn't affect Sam in such a way, their jobs being what they were; they were accustomed to injuries of all shapes and sizes. But for tears to come into play, it had to be something really bad.

He wasn't sure what to do, save for giving him pain-killers. But after the display, earlier, he wasn't sure that giving Sam something to take orally was the best idea. There were a couple of morphine injections in the first-aid kit. Dean was hoping to hear from Bobby by now, though. He wasn't exactly sure that giving it to him was safe.

"Sam, I'm not sure what to do," he admitted, speaking softly for the sake of the pain. "Bobby hasn't called back yet. I'm not sure what I can give you..."

"Please, Dean...make it stop...I don't care what it is, but please..."

"Okay, Sammy, just calm down, okay?" he soothed. "You gotta relax or you'll make it worse. I'll make an ice pack. We'll see if that helps. Just...just hold on. I'll be right back," he told him as he pushed the hair back out of Sam's face. Sam's eyes hadn't opened; they were squeezed shut, and his face scrunched in pain, just as it had earlier. It brought Dean back to that feeling of helplessness again.

He pushed up and away from the bed and headed toward the kitchenette, opening the freezer where they'd put the ice bucket. Just then, Dean's cell began to ring. It was accompanied by a pained groan from Sam, and Dean ran to answer it before the noise could continue to torture his brother further.

He stood there after hitting the accept button, simply making sure Sam was okay.

"Dean? Dean, you there?" Bobby's voice sounded on the other line. Dean put the phone to his ear and made his way back to the ice.

"Bobby, I'm glad you called," he said in a hushed voice. "Sam's in pain...a lot of pain. Like monster-headache-of-the-century, kinda pain. I dunno what to give 'im. We've got morphine..."

"Then give 'im that," Bobby told him. "From what I've been able to find out, it looks like his body is reacting as if it'd been suffering from a severe infection. Which, in a way, it kinda was. And who knows what gunk might still be in there, really. Main thing is, the killer part's outta him. The rest of this, well, he's gonna have to ride it out. He's gonna be in for a world a' hurt for a few days, at least. So you might as well give 'im somethin' to help 'im through it."

"We've got two shots of morphine, Bobby, that's it!" he exclaimed as quietly as possible.

"So give 'im one now, and one tomorrow when it wears off. And as soon as it's in his system tomorrow, you head here with 'im. It's a three hour drive, so he should be okay for it. I'll be sure and have whatever he'll need, by the time ya get here."

Dean took a few breaths as he wrapped the ice in a towel and tied it off with a rubber band, "Alright."

"And Dean...You can do this, son. It's no different than any other patch-up job. Just gonna take a little more time, is all."

"Yeah. Okay, Bobby. Thanks. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Try an' get some sleep."

"You, too. G'night," he ended the call, grabbing the ice pack and a bottle of water, and made his way back over to the bed. He set both on the night stand, and made his way to his bag at the foot of the bed to retrieve the first aid kit. Once he found the morphine, he went back to sit beside Sam. "Hey, kiddo," he said, softly. "I'm gonna give you somethin' for the pain, okay?"

"Mmhm," Sam whimpered. Dean opened an alcohol wipe and cleaned off a small patch of skin on the back of Sam's bicep. Sam didn't seem to even notice. As Dean slowly injected the drug into Sam's arm, the younger brother didn't so much as flinch.

Dean tossed the empty syringe and put a bandage over the injection site. Then he moved onto the bed so his back was flush with the headboard, and reached for his brother. "Sam, I need you to sit up and drink some water, okay? You'll get dehydrated if you don't. So, c'mon. I'll help you," he said as Sam protested.

It took several struggled moments to get Sam into a bit of an inclined position, still on his side, but with his head resting limply on Dean's chest. Dean held the open water bottle to Sam's lips, and he drank slowly from it. It took a couple of minutes, but once about a quarter of the bottle was down, Dean didn't push him any further.

He set the bottle back down and reached for the ice pack. "N-no..." Sam protested. "'M already cold. Don't w-want that..."

"Okay, Sammy, sshhh," he stroked a hand gently over Sam's head, slowly, and repeatedly, trying to calm him. "Just relax, okay? I've got you. Just try and go back to sleep..." he continued the mantra, and the gentle petting, until he was certain that Sam had given in to the drugs and fallen back into blissful slumber...


	8. Road Block

It had taken Dean a lot longer to fall asleep a second time. But he woke up before Sam, this time, to the rays of sunlight pouring in through the miniscule cracks in the shoddy motel curtains. The younger hadn't moved a muscle since he'd fallen asleep. Dean supposed he should be grateful for that.

Carefully, he slipped out from his position behind his brother, and laid him gently down on the stacked pillows. He stealthily walked around the room, gathering their things, and packing them into their bags.

At one point, his foot caught in the comforter that had fallen a bit off the end of the bed, and he stumbled to the floor with a grunt. Ignoring the self-embarrassment, he picked his head up to see if the noise had waken up Sam. But it hadn't so much as made him change his breathing pattern.

Dean raised his brows for a moment, then pushed to stand, rolling the shoulder that had broken his fall, then headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He'd even attempted to do that as quietly as he could.

Upon his final rinse and spit into the sink, he picked his head back up to look in the mirror and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Sam standing in the doorway.

He spun around, "Sam? You okay?" Sam furrowed his brow for a moment, then nodded. "You need to use the bathroom?" He nodded, mutely, again. "Okay," Dean replied, grabbing his toothbrush. He moved around Sam to get out of the bathroom. "When you're ready, we're gonna head out to Bobby's," Dean told him through the door as he walked to his bag to pack his toothbrush.

He picked up both of their bags and set them on the end of the bed closest to the door. Dean was a bit worried about his brother's silence this morning. Though it was a merciful change from the pain he'd gone through the night before. But then he remembered that morphine had had a tendency to make the youngest Winchester a bit quiet and distant when it started to wear off. Which meant that this wasn't connected to whatever was running its course in his body.

He heard the toilet flush and the tap in the sink turn on. And after a few moment, he could tell that Sam was brushing his teeth. Dean hadn't left out a change of clothes for him, assuming he'd be in too my pain to try and accomplish that goal before Bobby's. So, now he was digging through Sam's bag, trying to find something comfortable for him to wear for the ride.

"Sweats okay?" he asked as Sam came out of the bathroom with his toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. Sam nodded again, swapping items with his brother. "You sure you're okay, Sam? If you're in pain, you gotta let me know."

"I'm fine," Sam quietly insisted. "Just feel...disconnected. Probably the morphine."

Dean nodded and turned to tuck the toiletries into the bag. "Get dressed so we can hit the road before that changes, okay?"

"Yeah," he replied and disappeared back into the bathroom.

11 00 11 00 11

They were about an hour into their trip when Sam finally started to come out of his dazed state. The stereo was on, but not at its usual high volume. From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam glancing over at him on occasion. It was the telltale sign that he was thinking about something, and wasn't sure whether or not to talk about it.

He looked over at Sam, meeting his eyes, "You hungry?"

Sam shook his head, "Not really. But...if you are, you can stop. I'm okay."

"I'm good," he told him. "Something on your mind?"

Sam glanced down at his hands; his knee bouncing a half a dozen times. Dean glanced at him again, brow raised, then back to the road in front of them. Then Sam spoke, "I'm sorry..."

Dean furrowed his brows and glanced at him again, "What the hell for?"

Sam turned his head to look at his older brother, "For getting us into this mess. For getting...infected."

"How is that your fault?" Dean asked.

"That's not what I mean, Dean."

"Then what do you mean? We get hurt on jobs all the time, Sammy. Hazard of the trade. You know that. This is no different."

"It is different," he told him. "This isn't a simple patch-and-go, here. We're gonna be stuck at Bobby's for days."

"So what? What's the problem with a few days off, huh? Hell, I'm thinkin', afterward, we can take another week off. Do somethin' fun... See the damned Grand Canyon or somethin', which, by the way, we still haven't done," he glanced at him again.

Sam shook his head with a slight smirk, "Ya know...whenever you start mentioning taking a break, it really worries me."

"And when you keep worrying about it, it screws the whole plan," he retorted. "We never go."

"Yeah, but do you really wanna go? Or are you just trying to deflect, like the last time you mentioned it?"

"Of course I wanna go!" he started to get frustrated. "I wanted to go last time, too!"

"But last time, you were trying to keep me from the big secret Dad passed on to you."

"And you know that now. So what's the reason we can't go, this time?"

"I didn't say we couldn't! I didn't say we couldn't last time, either!" he defended.

"Yet you're pissed off at me for mentioning it..."

"I'm not... I'm not pissed off, Dean," he said, wiping a hand down his face, then settling it across his stomach.

"Sound pretty pissed, to me," Dean retorted.

"Well I'm sorry, then. We can go, if you want to," his voice quieted down.

"I don't wanna go, if you're gonna be a bitch about it." He waited for the return "jerk" that never came, and glanced over at him again. Sam's face was slightly pinched; his hand rubbing across his stomach, he began to squirm in his seat. "Sam? You sick?" all anger left him and was replaced with concern.

"M' okay," his voice was pinched.

"Bullshit," Dean replied.

"Stomach hurts, but I'm okay for now," he replied. "Jerk."

Dean swallowed and turned back to face the road. "Look, I'm sorry... This wasn't supposed to be an argument. I didn't wanna fight with you. Not now..."

"S'ok, Dean. I know."

Dean looked over at him again. His face was still pinched, and his eyes squeezed shut. His hand clutched over his stomach now, as the other pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dude, if you're in pain, I can give you that other shot. That's the whole point in having it. There's no reason to wait for it to get unbearable."

"'Kay..." he choked out with hesitation, letting out a breath he'd been holding in.

Dean hurriedly pulled over to the side of the road, seeing his brother rapidly deteriorate. He threw the car into park and took off his seat belt, turning to face him as he pulled the case from the inside pocket of his jacket out, containing the syringe. As if by pure instinct, he lifted a hand to Sam's forehead.

"Damnit, Sammy! You're burnin' up! Why didn't you tell me you were feelin' bad?"

"Jus' started," he replied. "Was fine and then...it just got real bad all of a sudden..."

"Okay...okay, lemme get this jacket off you, so I can give you the meds," he insisted. Sam helped, the best he could, to shrug off the jacket, and Dean gave him the shot in the back of his other bicep.

Sam was suddenly grabbing for the handle on the door.

"Whoa, what're ya doin'?" Dean asked. "You gonna puke?"  
"N-no," Sam told him. "N-need to l-lay down. Gonna g-get in the back..."

Dean wordlessly shot out of the car and around to Sam's side, before Sam had been able to get himself out. He helped him into the back seat, and when Sam clutched to Dean's arm, he decided to slip into the back with him.

Sam was shaking again, like he had the night before. For some reason, the shaking disturbed Dean, more than any of it. Not to mention the fact that, in his personal experience, morphine generally started to work pretty fast. And that hadn't been the case either time, for Sam. Sam was clearly still in pain; squirming where he lay, the entire upper half of him draped across Dean's lap, clinging to the arm that held him securely.

Dean wished he could bring that bitch, Gaia, back to life so that he could burn her all over again.

"I've got you, Sammy," he assured his younger brother. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Sam let out one of those heart-wrenching sobs that made Dean want to cry right along with him, though he'd never admit to it. He just held onto him, tighter, gently rocking him back and forth.

"It's gonna be okay," he repeated. "I've got you. It'll go away, soon, Sammy. I promise..."


	9. Cephalalgia

Sam was still sleeping, curled up in the back seat, when Dean pulled the Impala into Bobby's lot. After closing the gate, Bobby hurried to the car to help Dean with his brother.

As he approached, and Dean exited the driver seat, Bobby was a bit shocked at the overall appearance of the eldest Winchester. He hadn't seen the kid look so distraught since Sam had been knifed and killed by Jake... His face was pale; eyes red with dark circles underneath. Even his stance was one of a man much older and worn.

"That bad, today?" he asked as Dean opened the back door.

"He seemed okay, for a while," he replied. "But then, outta nowhere...it was real bad." He ducked into the back seat and scooped up his younger brother's curled up body.

"Lemme help ya with 'im, Dean," Bobby insisted.

"I've got 'im, Bobby," he replied as he stood. "You got a bed ready?"

"Yeah," he replied, shutting the door as Dean headed toward the house. "And I've got everything else we'll need to help 'im through this," he told him as he hurried a bit ahead of them to hold open the door.

Dean nearly collapsed after getting Sam upstairs to the guest bedroom and into bed. If not for the chair beside the bed, he would've hit the floor.

"When's the last time you ate, Dean?" Bobby asked, quietly.

Dean shook his head, his eyes wandering about aimlessly in thought, "I dunno. Yesterday afternoon, I suppose. I haven't been hungry."

"Well, no wonder you're about to keel over," he replied. "Your body's used to consuming twice the amount of food the average man your age does."

"Thanks," he sighed, sarcastically.

"You're not gonna do Sam any good if you let yourself get sick," he retorted. "Ya need to take care of yourself."

"I don't see how eating is gonna help me to help Sam, Bobby," he said, gruffly. "Might've helped make it a little easier getting him upstairs, though," he raised his brows in the hindsight.

"When did you give 'im the last shot?" Bobby asked.

"What time is it?"

"A little after noon."

"Maybe an hour and a half ago," he estimated.

"Then he'll be out for a bit longer," Bobby guessed. "Come on downstairs with me. I've got some leftover, cold pizza and beer in the fridge. You can have lunch and listen to the regimen I've got set up for Sam." Dean's eyes went from Bobby, to Sam, then back to Bobby again, hesitantly. "He'll be okay, Dean. No way I'm bringin' food up here. He smells it, he's gonna feel even worse."

"What's that mean?" he furrowed his brow.

"Ever have food poisoning?"

"Yeah," he made a face at the memories.

"This is kinda like that, when it comes to smellin' any kinda food. It'll make him so nauseous, he'll throw up anything we're lucky enough to get him to drink."

"To drink? What, we're not gonna be feeding him?" he asked, incredulously.

"Ya think we can continue this conversation downstairs?" he raised his brows. Dean huffed and pushed to stand up, looking his brother over one more time before giving in and following Bobby out.

By the time they reached the kitchen, Dean was tired of waiting for the answer, "C'mon, Bobby. What do you know about this?"

"I got hold of a copy of the autopsy report for victim number one," he said as he opened the fridge to retrieve the pizza box and a bottle of beer. "You eat. I'll tell you why we can't feed Sam, once you're done."

"Bobby!"

"It ain't a request, Dean," he returned with as much force. "Sit down an' eat, and I'll explain the regimen. The rest waits till you're done, ya hear?"

Dean's frustration remained clear on his face for a moment before he grudgingly gave in and slumped into a chair at the table. He threw open the box lid, and popped the top off his beer before picking up a piece of the pizza and taking a bite.

"Thank you," Bobby sighed, then took a seat across from him. "Now, I've got plenty of cold compresses in the freezer. Chances are, he'll be runnin' a fever most of the time this is goin' through his system."

"Had a fever on the way here," Dean said, after swallowing a mouthful of pizza. "I left the windows down most of the way here. He seemed a bit cooler after while."

"Somethin' I'll check on, here in a minute. If it gets too high, we'll need to use the compresses." He waited for a moment, eying Dean's pizza slice until Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, taking another bite so that he'd continue. "I've got everything from pain-killers to muscle-relaxants; all injection ready. When the fever's not too high, we'll need to let it run its course. It'll help him sweat out whatever's in his system." Bobby's eyes shifted a bit to somewhere beside the table.

Dean threw his crust into the box and took several gulps of his beer, then set it down. "What aren't you tellin' me? There's somethin' else, isn't there?"

Bobby met his eyes again, taking a breath before he continued. "I've got a portable defibrillator."

"What?"

"It's a-"

"I know what it is, Bobby!" he retorted. "Why the hell do we need that?"

"We might not," he replied. "But there are cases where poisoning and food-poisoning have caused cardiac arrest. We need to be prepared."

Dean slammed the pizza box closed and forced himself up and away from the table. A mixture of pure anger and unbridled fear painted his face, turning back to face Bobby from across the room. "Tell me the truth, Bobby," he demanded, "Could Sam die from this?"

Bobby's eyes avoiding his, was all the answer he needed. Dean let out an exasperated sound, and his hands went over his face before sliding back into his hair as he turned away from the older hunter.

"I ain't sayin' he will, Dean," Bobby finally spoke. "But I ain't sayin' he won't, either. There's no handbook on this specific toxin that's runnin' through his body right now, and that's because no one else has ever experienced it before."

"Other than the two corpses back there," Dean retorted.

"They didn't expel the thing that ate through 'em, though," Bobby shot back. "Which brings me to why we can't feed 'im." Dean returned his attention to the older man. "The autopsy report on Sanders showed that the creature ate its way out of his stomach. 'Course, I say 'ate', because I know that's what happened. Report says there were signs of severe and unexplained erosion."

"But it came outta his back..."

"Well, that's most likely because if it went out the other way, it would've had to eat its way through the liver. My guess is that that wouldn't have been too pleasant. And that's just a guess, mind you."

"So, Sam's stomach could be messed up pretty bad?"

"I think if it had gotten very far, we'd have seen blood by now. I know you said there was some in his vomit, but that was most likely whatever damage happened to the inner layer of stomach lining. There'd be some sign of internal bleeding if there was an actual hole. Aside from that, the expelling of that thing probably caused some damage to his esophagus, as well. I don't wanna chance causing even more damage by feeding him that way."

"How's he gonna get better if we're starvin' him?" Dean argued.

"I've got IV fluids containing the necessary nutrients," he replied. "Everything but the pole to hang it on, but we can make due with somethin' for that. I know it's not the same, but fasting could help rid this from his system, too. I've got cleansing herbs we can give him in some tea. There's antioxidants and a whole list of holistic remedies that should help. As far as the pain-killers go, I'm not so sure they'll be as effective as they'd normally be. And by that, I mean they may take longer to start workin'."

"I noticed that, last night and today in the car," Dean said. "But they do work, eventually. And they seem to help long enough that we can time it and give him something before the previous dose wears off."

"As long as we're careful about it. We don't wanna cause 'im to OD," Bobby added. Dean nodded in agreement and ran a hand through his hair before leaning back against the door frame. "There is one other thing we should watch for," Bobby said.

But before he could continue, they nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard Sam scream, followed by a loud thump. A split-second glance between the two hunters was all that passed before Dean was racing up the stairs; Bobby close on his tail.

"Sammy?" Dean yelled out as he entered the bedroom. The bed was empty. But then Dean saw Sam's feet sticking out from the edge of the bed, on the floor. He hurried to his brother and found him thrashing about on the floor. His eyes were closed. "Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?" he grabbed hold of his arms.

"N-no! No, you...you leave 'm 'lone..." he slurred.

"Sammy? C'mon, man, ya gotta wake up," he told him, grabbing the sides of his face in an attempt to still him. "Open your eyes, Sammy. C'mon..."

Sam's face scrunched up, "No...n-no...please...d- don't...don't...please..." and then he let out a sob; tears began falling from his clenched eyelids.

"Sammy, it's okay," Dean decidedly pulled his brother from the floor and into his lap, allowing himself to sit on the floor. "It's okay, Sam. Come on...you gotta wake up. It's just dream. Whatever you're seein', it's not real," he held him, cradling his head to his chest and stroking his hair as he tried to comfort his clearly distraught state. Sam quietly continued to cry; the only evidence of it, being his breathing pattern.

Dean looked up and Bobby. "Lemme guess," he said, "This other thing you were gonna tell me; it's nightmares, isn't it..."

Bobby nodded, shortly, with a look of sympathy for both brothers...


	10. Cephalalgia2

"Sammy? You with me? Gotta get you outta here," Sam heard Dean's voice somewhere above him. He opened his eyes. He was in the grass, in the field. He turned his head to the left to see the burning corpse, then turned back to his brother.

"Don't think I can...get up," he said.

"That's what I'm here for," Dean helped him up, though he nearly collapsed again.

"Can't..."

Suddenly, the flaming corpse of Lucy Bennett was rising up off the ground and flying straight toward Dean. Dean shoved Sam out of harm's way, sending him falling back onto the ground. Sam watched in horror as Lucy descended upon him.

"No!" Sam yelled out.

But Lucy struck him over and over; Dean fighting defensively, unsure of what to do at this point. But Lucy suddenly stopped, and was simply holding him down now.

It wasn't until Dean started screaming out in pain, that Sam realized what was happening... "No! No, you leave him alone!" he yelled out, moving his own battered body toward his brother.

Lucy turned her head to face him, smiled grimly, and then dissipated into ash...

Sam scrambled for Dean as the older Winchester began to convulse and turn over onto his side, facing Sam; his eyes pleading, helplessly He reached out to him. Sam reached back, trying like mad to get to his brother's side.

Then, suddenly, Dean grew sickeningly still...his hand dropping to the ground. "No..." Sam gripped the earth in his hands and pulled himself toward Dean until he could pull him into his arms. "No, please...please don't..." Don't be dead, he thought...

He peeked his head over Dean's shoulder to see the bloody hole that now lay in his back, and he knew what had happened...

She'd killed him... Dean was dead...

*~.~*

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean spoke softly against the lump in his throat, as he continued to gently rock his distraught brother in his arms.

Bobby had retreated back downstairs, a few minutes earlier, to gather up some cold compresses. Sam's fever seemed pretty high to him. And Dean could feel it, hot against his chest where Sam's head was planted. He could feel it on his arm where it wrapped around Sam's back to hold onto him.

Part of him was relieved that he could, at least, be with Sam while he suffered; do something besides wait it out in another room. When Sam was detoxing from the demon-blood, he was locked away in the panic room, and Dean couldn't be there with him. It would've been too dangerous.

Not that this was any easier, though. If anything, it was even more difficult. More difficult for Dean, that is. And he was okay with that, if his presence could help in any way at all...

"Dea-?" Sam's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts, and halted his mantra of soothing speech. He pulled his hand from Sam's head so he could see his eyes.

"Sammy?"

And suddenly, Sam was repositioning himself and pulling Dean into a tight embrace, weeping for reasons Dean didn't really understand, in that moment. All he could do was hug him back.

"It's okay, Sam," he told him. "It's okay... It was just a nightmare. Everything's gonna be okay..."

"It felt r-real," he replied, his breath shaking from the exertion of tears. "I felt everything...and I w-watched you...sh-she killed you..."

"She didn't kill me, Sammy," he stroked his back, trying to get him to calm down; to stop shaking so badly. "I'm alive, see? I'm right here...Everything's okay..."

Bobby was standing in the doorway, probably longer than Dean had even realized. But he finally looked up to meet the older hunter's eyes. That's when he realized that there was something more pressing that needed to be dealt with.

"Sam? You're running a pretty high fever," he told him. "We need to cool you down, okay? So, I'm gonna help you back into bed. Think you can make it?"

He felt Sam nod and slowly begin to pull away. Sam glanced around before looking briefly back at Dean. "We at Bobby's?" he asked.

"Yeah, kiddo. You've been out since halfway through our trip," he gave him a small smile before ruffing Sam's brown mop of hair.

Sam's eyes darted away, suddenly feeling sheepish and embarrassed at his previous bout of weeping in front of his big brother. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said in almost a whisper.

"Hey, hey," Dean took Sam's face in his hands so that he'd have no choice but to look at him. "You've got nothin' to be sorry for. Got that? You didn't ask for this to happen."

"You shouldn't have to do this," Sam replied.

"It's my job, Sammy. I'm supposed to take care of you. I want to. Don't you know that? You're my baby brother..."

Sam's face became a bit pensive before replying, "I'm not a baby..."

Dean smiled at him. "Okay, Sam, let's get you up," he said as he stood, then grabbed Sam's arms to help hoist him upright. That's when Bobby came into the room the rest of the way. He pulled the tangled covers from the bed so that Sam could get in.

As he laid back down in the bed, he met Bobby's eyes and tried to give him a small smile.

"How ya feelin', Sam? You in any pain?" Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head. "Did you figure out how to help me? How to make this go away?" Sam inquired.

Dean shot Bobby a look, then answered for him. "We're gonna get you through this," he told him. "What's happening to you is all after-effects of that thing that was in you. The pain, the nightmares, the fever, everything... Bobby said it might last a few days. But we've got everything we need, to help you get through it."

"If it gets too much for you," Bobby interjected, "I've got sedatives. We can knock you out, if you want it."

"No," Sam replied without hesitation. "I don't wanna sleep. I don't- you can't stop the nightmares," he shook his head, "And I don't wanna go back there..."

"Okay, Sam," Dean said, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed. "We won't give you anything you don't want. But you can't stay awake for the next few days."

"I can try," he retorted.

"Yeah, ya can. But it won't last long. Just listen to me, okay? You fall asleep and some bad things start happening, just remember it's only a dream. Anything bad that happens, equals Sammy's asleep...none of it's real."

"Easier said, than done," Sam replied.

"Well, if you keep sayin' it over an' over, chances are it'll get drilled into your head," Dean told him. "And when somethin' bad pops into that imagination, you'll remember it. It's worth a shot, Sam."

Sam looked at him for a long moment before nodding and letting his head fall back on the pillow.

"You're not gonna like this," Bobby told Sam. "But we're gonna have to use this cold compresses on you, to get your body temp down."

"Do what you have to," Sam replied, stoically. Bobby placed one of the compresses behind Sam's neck, watching Sam grimace a bit at the cold. Then he handed one to Dean, placing the other under Sam's armpit, signaling for Dean to do the same.

Sam let out a squeaking sound in response.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Jus' cold..." Sam replied, shortly. "I'm okay."

"You want somethin' to drink? Tea or somethin'?" Bobby asked.

"Water," Sam replied.

"I'll get it," Dean said, moving to stand, but Sam grabbed his arm.

"No...stay," Sam pleaded. Dean furrowed his brow as he sat back down, then glanced to Bobby, who nodded and left to fetch it, himself.

"Sammy, you said you weren't in pain..."

"I'm not," he replied. "I just...please, can you stay?" the pleading in his eyes couldn't be ignored by his older brother.

"'Course I can stay, Sam," he told him. Dean stood and moved around to the other side of the bed, climbing in to sit back against the headboard. "If you want, I might be able to scrounge up a crossword book or somethin' for ya?"

"It's okay, Dean. I can't even think straight right now. I just feel better knowing you're right here," he told him. Dean glanced down at his brother's face and saw his eyes start to droop closed. He smirked for a moment, thinking about how Sam insisted on not wanting to go back to sleep. But it faded with the memory of the moments before, when he was so lost from that nightmare... Hopefully, that wouldn't happen again. Sam had already been through enough.

But Dean would stay by his side, every moment he could be there...


	11. Hell Spasm

Bobby reentered the quiet guest bedroom about half an hour later. Dean's back was flush against the headboard, but he was sound asleep, as was his younger brother lying beside him.

Not wanting to wake either of them, he quietly made his way to Sam's side of the bed and visually scanned him, noting that the red tinge that had earlier painted his fevered face, was gone. He seemed to be breathing normally, and his expression was relaxed.

Dean seemed relaxed, as well. Though he most likely hadn't meant to fall asleep, he most definitely needed it. He still looked pale and worn.

Sam's right hand was sprawled a bit across the mattress; the back of his knuckles just barely settling against the side of Dean's leg. Bobby wasn't sure if he'd done it on purpose; some physical sign and tether to his brother; proving to him that he was still there. Similarly, the back of Dean's left hand rested on the mattress between them, just grazing Sam's arm.

Bobby suspected that this was the only reason either of them was able to sleep.

He quietly exited the room again, leaving the two to get as much rest as possible. He had a feeling they were going to need it...

*~.~*

Bobby came back a couple of hours later, finding them exactly as he'd left them. Only, now, he'd have to wake Sam to give him his next dose of pain-killers. He was a bit relieved when Dean woke up as he entered the room.

"Need to give Sam his meds, now," Bobby reminded him. "Think he'd sleep through an injection?"

"No idea," Dean replied, sitting forward a bit, stretching the crick in his neck. "Might be better to wake him up."

"That's what I was thinkin'."

"I'm up," Sam said, groggily. "Thirsty."

"Good, 'cause I brought ya some tea," Bobby said as he rounded the bed, setting the syringe on the bedside table as Sam pushed himself up to sit back against the headboard. Bobby handed him the mug and he gratefully accepted.

"Thanks," he said before bringing the cup to his lips. Bobby waited for his reaction as the younger Winchester drank. "This is pretty good, Bobby," he told him with a bit of a smile. "Thanks."

"Glad ya think so," Bobby replied, narrowing his eyes. Dean didn't miss the look the older hunter had made, and made a mental note to ask him about that later. "Ready for your next round of bliss?" he joked.

"I hate the way it makes me feel," Sam said. "But it beats the alternative," he admitted, bearing his arm for Bobby. "Fire away..."

11 00 11 00 11

Sam drifted off to sleep a bit later after finishing his tea. Dean followed Bobby out into the hallway. "What was up with that look, Bobby?"

"What look?" Bobby narrowed his eyes.

"That look," he retorted, trying to keep his voice down. "After Sam said he liked the tea."

"Oh... It's nothin'."

"Yeah right, it's nothin'," Dean didn't buy it.

"It's just...well, I did put a fair amount of sugar in it, and all. But that brew is some foul-tasting stuff. I expected him to gag or somethin'. Not to enjoy it."

"What does that mean?" Dean inquired. "There's somethin' off about his sense of taste?"

"Seems like it. But there's really no way to test that theory, seein' as we can't feed 'im."

"Well, what kinds of things would cause this? I mean...should we be worried? Is there somethin' happening that could be permanent?"

"I don't have answers to this, Dean," the older man replied. "Could just be that this toxin is still working its way through his system, and ended up affecting his sense of taste. Could be a phantom symptom. There's really no way for me to tell, till this all blows over. I guess we should just be glad that this is all he's had happen in a few hours. And it's not like it's such a bad thing...Not as long as it's temporary."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean resigned.

They stood there for a few silent moments, in contemplation. Then Bobby asked, "You hungry?"

11 00 11 00 11

Sam slept...and slept, for hours. Dean had switched off sitting in the room and coming downstairs for a beer no and then. He wanted to be there if Sam woke up again; didn't want him to feel like he was alone, as girly of a thought as that might be. But when the night came and went, and another dose of morphine without so much as a flinch, Dean began to worry.

"He still out?" Bobby asked as he entered the room, having just woken with the sun.

"Yeah," Dean replied, sleepily. "I'm really startin' to worry, Bobby. Shouldn't we be worried?"

"Him sleepin' through this is more of a blessing than anything," Bobby justified. "He hasn't been feverish again, has he?"

"No. I've been checkin'. I just got outta bed about an hour ago. If he'd've been running a fever, I would've felt it."

"You give 'im his meds?"

"'Course," Dean said, incredulously. "Few hours ago. Didn't even flinch..."

"Alright. Well, come downstairs and have somethin' to eat," he said, turning to leave.

"I'll be down in a minute," he told him. "Gotta change clothes, anyway. Might as well get a shower in."

Bobby nodded and headed out. Dean stood and moved toward the window where his bag lay open on the dresser. He pulled out a change of clothes and brought them into the bathroom leading off of the guest room.

That's when he heard Sam begin to stir.

He quickly headed back into the bedroom, just as Sam began to groan, painfully. "Sam?" he went to his side as the younger hunter twisted onto his back. His muscles seemed clenched; even in his face and neck. "Sammy, what's wrong?" he sat on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on his arm.

Sam replied only with a sudden shout of agony, and Dean could feel the ridiculously tensed muscles of his arm.

"Sam!" he grabbed hold of both of his arms, "Tell me what's wrong...You gotta relax!"

"Can't!" he grunted. "Can't...stop..." his words were followed by yelling out as his body arched up off of the mattress.

Dean immediately repositioned himself and pulled Sam back against him, trying to prevent him from hurting himself. "Bobby!" he shouted out, though the older hunter was already racing back up the steps.

"What happened?" Bobby asked as he rushed into the room.

"I dunno," Dean replied, with a bit of panic. "Every muscle in his body is like...rocks! Like they're all spasming or something..." he explained as he held his squirming brother.

"Dea-...Dean!" Sam yelled out.

"I'm right here, Sammy," he told him. "I've got you."

"De- hurts! Please!" and he screamed again as his body arched with such power that Dean nearly lost his grip on him.

"Bobby, we gotta give him something!"

"He just had the pain-killers, Dean," the hunter reminded him. "We give 'im more, it could kill 'im!"

"We can't leave him like this!" he argued.

Another scream ripped from Sam's lungs as his body lurched again. "N-no! Please! Please!" he begged for some kind of relief; his heavy panting filling the room.

Dean nearly lost it when he physically felt Sam's left shoulder dislocate under the pressure of the straining muscles. "Oh god...Bobby!" Dean begged as well.

"Hell..." Bobby turned to the medical kit on the dresser and started rooting around for what he needed.

"J-just...just a dream..." Sam said, breathing heavily. "Jus' a drea..." Dean felt his eyes sting with tears, remembering what he'd told his brother the day before. Anything bad happens, you just remember, it's just a dream...that's all.

Bobby was at Sam's other side, then, with a syringe that didn't quite look the same as the others. "Turn 'im," he ordered. "Gotta inject this...uh...in the backside." Dean, with great effort, managed to maneuver Sam onto his side a bit. "This is gonna hurt," Bobby warned, before stabbing the needle into the fleshy part of Sam's hip. Sam cried out for a moment, though it might've just been a coincidence. Dean watched as the syringe was emptied and pulled out, before allowing Sam's body to settle back.

"What was that?" Dean inquired.

"Muscle relaxant," Bobby raised his brows. "Hopin' that's what he needs..."

The two older hunters waited, holding their breath in hopes that something, anything, would ease up. When Sam's cries died down to whimpers, they were able to let go.

"Sammy?" Dean stroked a hand through Sam's hair. "You feelin' any better?"

Sam shuddered. "Don't wanna do this 'nymore..." he said in a slurred voice. "Can't do it...anymore, Dea-..."

"It's gonna be okay, Sam," he said in almost a whisper, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. "It's gonna be over, real soon."

"I can't..." his body went limp as he lost consciousness.

Dean let out a shaky breath, meeting Bobby's eyes. "His left shoulder is dislocated," he told him.

"So is his right hip," Bobby replied, grimly.

"Oh god..." Dean shook his head, looking up at the ceiling, unable to withhold the tears any longer. "Bobby, how much more does he have to suffer?"

Bobby didn't have the answer. He stood and walked around the other side of the bed, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "Lemme get 'im patched up, son. I'm gonna start 'im on that IV, too. You go get your shower. He'll be out a while."

"That's what we thought right before this happened. And look at him! Bobby, if this stuff ain't workin' anymore, what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"We'll sedate 'im if we have to," he replied.

"He didn't want that..."

"Well it ain't up to him, what's best for him in this. We keep 'im under for a while, and his body shouldn't be able to do what it's been doin'. It's attackin' itself, Dean. If we can get it to chill out for a while, maybe he can actually get through this."

For several minutes, Dean remained in silent thought, still clinging to his brother. He didn't have an answer to this, either. But anything would be better than making Sam continue to be aware of all this pain. Even the nightmares...

Bobby helped carefully lower Sam back onto the bed and then shooed Dean off to the bathroom so that he wouldn't have to witness the setting of Sam's dislocations.

Dean turned on the hot water and shed his clothes before climbing into the tub and under the spray. His throat hurt from the huge lump that hadn't left since Sam woke. Seeing him like that was complete torture. Nothing like what the kid was going through, himself, he was sure. But if it was this hard to watch, he couldn't imagine what it was like for Sam.

He cursed under his breath. He'd do anything to switch places with Sam; to relieve him from this suffering. But there was nothing he could do. And there was no guarantee that he would even survive it. Sam could die...and they were just sitting around, letting him suffer, all because they refused to give up hope. Would it be for nothing?

Dean couldn't help the sobbing that worked its way up out of him; though he tried his best to hold it back. It poured from him like vomit. There was no stint in the flow, like the dam had finally crumbled.

If there was something to chase, something to kill, to make this stop, he'd be out there finding it. But there was nothing he could do, and that hurt most of all. Dean couldn't save his brother. He couldn't make another deal to bring him back; not when the crossroads demons knew that there was really no holding him in Hell. Not even natural means, drugs, seemed to be helping very much, now.

He was helpless. And if anything could bring Dean to his knees, it was that. He couldn't help his brother...

...and it was killing him...


	12. No Rest

Bugs...everywhere. All over him. He felt them crawling on his skin, though he couldn't see them. It was dark. So dark that he thought maybe he was blind.

They started tearing at his flesh; eating his skin. He couldn't move to swipe them off of him. Something was holding him down, and he couldn't even figure out what it was; couldn't feel his restraints.

Then, suddenly, the room filled with light as a door was kicked in. He couldn't see the person who entered the room, but he felt himself hoisted up and thrown over their shoulder. They were carrying him from the room...

Then he was tossed into bed, suddenly able to focus. Dean...

"Godamnit, Sammy!" he yelled, angrily. "Always getting yourself into trouble, and I end up havin' to save your ass! Why can't you just grow the hell up?"

"Dean..." Sam felt like he should be angry at how Dean was talking to him. But he was more hurt, than anything. "I didn't mean to..."

"Of course not!" he shouted as he paced around the bed. "You never mean to do anything wrong, do you? You never think! You never listen to what I say! You go around thinkin' everything that comes outta my mouth is just stupid! All because it's somethin' Dad taught me... Well, guess what, Sam! So far, you've screwed up royally more times that I can friggen' count! And I, for one, am sick and tired of cleanin' up your damn messes!"

"Dean, I'm sorry!" Sam retorted, still trying to figure out why he couldn't move. "I...I didn't...I'm sorry..."

"You're always sorry," Dean said, calming his voice a bit as he stopped beside the bed, hovering over him. "And you never change. You never trust what I tell you, and you keep hurting me and everyone else in the process. Well, ya know what? I'm done..."

"What?" Sam breathed.

"I'm done with you, Sam. I can't trust you. You've been nothin' but a pain in my ass for years now." Dean's face remained filled with contempt and disgust. Sam couldn't help the tears that filled his eyes at his brother's words. "And I know I was always supposed to take care of you, you bein' my little brother and all. But you're a grown man. You don't need me. And you sure as hell haven't ever taken any of my advice. Sure, you listen," he turned and began pacing again, "Pretend, even, that you give a damn about anything I'm tellin' you. But you don't give a rat's ass about anything but yourself. That's how it's always been, hasn't it, Sam?"

"N-no, Dean. That's not true!"

"Stop lying to me!" he yelled, approaching the side of the bed again, grabbing Sam's shirt in his fist. "You're such a lyin' sack of crap, Sam! You always have been! Especially to me! Well, I'm sick and tired of your games and your bullshit! You may not be able to return to a normal life, but you're sure as hell not stayin' with me! I don't want anything to do with you, anymore!" he roughly let go of Sam's shirt and straightened.

"Dean...please..." Sam cried. "Please, I'll do anything...anything to make you believe me...I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"It's too late, Sam," Dean said in a calm voice. "You've ruined everything. Everything you touch goes to hell." He huffed a small laugh, "No wonder you make the perfect meat-suit for Lucifer."

"That's not fair," Sam shook his head.

"Not fair?" his face grew angry again. "You wanna know what's not fair? How about a spending a lifetime watchin' out for someone whose supposed to love you; sacrificing everything to make sure they're alive and well, and having them turn around and spit in your face every chance they get? I gave you everything!" he shouted. "And you've done nothing, Sam...Nothing but make every single day of my life a living nightmare."

"I don't...understand..." Sam said through sobbing tears.

"Let me make it more clear for you," Dean said, leaning in close. "As of right now, we're no longer brothers." Sam shook his head, letting out another pained sob. "I don't ever wanna see your face again. You're nothin' to me."

Dean stood straight again, without a single iota of resentment of anything he'd just said. Then he turned and walked toward the door.

"Dean, please...please!" Sam yelled after him. He didn't even slow down. "Please don't leave!" he sobbed. But then he was alone.

Sam couldn't remember ever feeling so heartbroken in all his life. It hurt more than anything...anything he'd ever felt. He wanted to get up; run after Dean and beg him to forgive him for whatever he'd done. But he couldn't move.

He glanced down at his body, then. Every part of him was bloody and charred; useless. He let his head fall back to the mattress and let the tears continue to flow. He didn't care that his body looked this way...that he could die if no one were to help him. Sam welcomed that. He welcomed the possibility of death; the end to the pain that was so much deeper than what covered his flesh...

"Sammy, it's okay..." Dean was laying beside Sam on the bed, now. The younger hunter had begun sobbing in his sleep about half an hour ago; speaking barely coherent words, though Dean had understood most of them. It was enough to let him know that Sam's suffering wasn't physical pain.

Dean knew they couldn't wake him. But seeing him like this, made him feel that same helplessness he'd felt all the other times. Maybe even more now. All he could do was talk to him, hoping that his words would get through to him, somehow.

"It's okay, Sam, it's not real. None of it's real," his hand was on the side of Sam's face, fingers wiping away the endless tears and trying to smooth the lines of sadness that skewed it. He was on his side, but Sam couldn't be moved from his back, thanks to the earlier dislocations. Dean had tilted his brother's face toward him, hoping that maybe Sam would have a lucid moment, open his eyes, and see the truth; the reality that he most definitely wasn't seeing right now.

But Sam's tears seemed consistently renewed, sobs wracking his chest. Dean hated seeing his brother cry. It was one of the few things he would do anything to prevent happening; kill anything that had caused them. But it was also one of the many things he wasn't sure what to do once they appeared...

*~.~*

Bobby was at a loss for how to help Sam through the night terrors. Really, he was at a loss all around, on this one. He'd thought, at first, that they'd been prepared to get him through this. But with the medicine only working half the time, it seemed less likely that they were really helping him much at all.

He was also worried about Dean. The poor kid had come out of the shower looking worse than when he'd gone in. His eyes, red-rimmed, and his demeanor completely exhausted, Dean was suffering right alone with his brother.

Watching him break, once Sam had started crying in his sleep, was something he wished he knew how to handle. But there was nothing the eldest hunter could do to help Dean. Not when Sam was like that.

Bobby had left them alone. He'd gone to check back in on them every ten or so minutes, to see if Sam had gotten through the latest spell. Each time, Dean had looked more broken than before. And now, as Bobby stood, quietly, in the doorway, he watched Dean as he tried to get through to him. He heard Sam whimper something...

"Dean...please...please, don't leave..."

He heard Dean release a harsh breath and move closer to Sam, "I won't leave you, Sam. I'm not leavin'. I'm right here. I wouldn't leave you, Sammy, you hear me?" Bobby watched as Dean moved closer, careful not to touch Sam's hip or shoulder. "I'm right here," he said as he moved his hand to Sam's neck and laid his head on his chest. "I'm here, Sammy. I'm here," his voice cracked, and from this angle, Bobby could see the tears on Dean's face; the anguish written there...

*~.~*

Dean laid his head on Sam's chest, willing his younger brother to feel his presence; believe that he was there and that whatever he was seeing in his dream, wasn't real. He closed his eyes against the burn in them and tried to concentrate on the sound of Sam's heartbeat through the whimpering sounds in his chest.

Slowly, he thought he felt Sam's breathing begin to even out; the sounds of sorrow decreasing. He continued to hold onto him, fearing that if he should move, it would start again. Dean willed all of his strength to his brother. He felt himself grow impossibly tired, and soon he was drifting off, himself...


	13. Ultimate Lie

Death never came for Sam. Instead, he was suddenly able to get up out of the bed, hours later. He went in search of his brother; to beg his forgiveness for whatever he'd done.

"Where are you going, Sam?" a voice sounded as he exited the room.

Sam turned to see Castiel. He stood there with a similar amount of disdain on his face, mixed with confusion and curiosity. "To look for Dean," Sam replied. "Do you know where he is?"

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"Can you take me to him?"

"I cannot," the angel replied. "I am sorry, Sam. But Dean no longer wishes to see you, and I must respect his wishes."

"How can you say that?" Sam argued. "What did I do? I mean...I know I've screwed up...but he's never abandoned me like this before. Cas, it's like he...he hates me..."

Castiel cocked his head to the side, "Do you not remember the events that transpired? The things Dean has discovered in the past weeks?"

"No. Please, tell me. I don't understand, and that's all I want. I just want to know why."

Castiel appraised him for a long while, before speaking, "During the time that Dean was in Hell," he began, "And you were consorting with Ruby, are there moments that you don't remember?"

Sam furrowed his brows in thought, "I'm not sure. What do you mean?"

The angel looked away for a moment, "Perhaps it would be easier just to show you." He turned his gaze back to Sam and reached out to touch his forehead.

Suddenly, the two were transported to another place. A dark, deathly humid room, where in the center there was laid a gruesome rack of chains.

"Where is this place?" Sam asked in a whisper, having some idea, already.

Castiel's reply was postponed as the room was suddenly flooded with demons. Not like he'd ever seen, though. They were inhuman looking creatures and they were carrying a screaming body of a man. He couldn't see through the crowd. Not until they dispersed, leaving the man alone.

Dean...

"This is Hell, Sam," Castiel told him. "He cannot see you, as we are not truly here."

Seeing Dean on that rack, was difficult. His body was suspended by chains and hooks digging into his flesh. He was whimpering, crying in anticipation of what was to come. His face was skewed with pain and fear; chin quivering and nostrils flaring.

"Dean..." Sam approached the rack, reaching out to his brother with tears in his eyes.

Then, there was a sound on the other side of the door. Sam glanced to it, then back to his brother, who had quickly changed his demeanor. He no longer looked afraid, but stoic. The brave face he always tried to put on in life. It was his fighting face. And though Sam was proud of him, he couldn't help but to feel a pain deep inside himself at his brother's suffering.

The door opened, revealing Alastair. Sam backed up, instinctively. "Ah, Dean, Dean, Dean," he hissed. "My favorite little pupil."

"Screw you, Alastair," Dean spat. "I'll never be like you."

Castiel stepped in front of Sam a bit, "This is the day that breaks Dean," he told him. "His thirtieth Hell-year."

"What does this have to do with him hating me?" Sam asked.

"Just watch," he told him, stepping back out of the way.

Sam turned his attention back to his brother, though Alastair was still talking. "I have a special treat for you, today," he sneered. "I've had a very special girl working for me. She's been treating your baby brother very nicely."

"You can't touch Sam!" Dean shouted.

"Oh but we haven't done anything," Alastair clarified. "He's done it all on his own. He's allowed her to turn him into one of us."

"You're a liar," Dean did his best to smirk with the faith he had in his brother. "Sam wouldn't let that happen."

"He already has, Deany," he grinned. "In fact, that's my special treat. I'm not going to be your doctor today..." he waved a hand at the door and it opened.

They heard the footsteps, first. Then they saw who walked into the room. Sam shook his head in denial as he saw a slightly younger version of himself enter the room. "That's not me," he claimed. "That can't be me...It's a trick."

"Sammy?" Dean's tearful voice called out.

"Hello, Dean," Other-Sam stepped up to the table with a grin.

"How are you here? How did you get here, Sam? Tell me you didn't make a deal..."

"No," he shook his head. "I tried, Dean. I really did. But I couldn't do anything to get you back. I can't help you..."

Dean released a breath, nodding his head, "Good. You're not supposed to."

"But it's good to see you," he smiled.

"Good to see you, too, Sammy," Dean tried to smile. "Wish it could be in less awkward circumstances. But...you didn't answer my question. How are you here?"

"The 'how' isn't really important," he answered. "It's the 'why' that brings me here. I found a way to be a better hunter, Dean," he said, excitedly, as he rounded to the side of the rack. "There's this girl, Ruby. I met her after...after we lost you," he explained. "She's teaching me things-"

"She's a demon, Sam," Dean warned. "You need to stay away from her."

"I know she's a demon," Sam told him. "But she's not like other demons, Dean. She's helping me."

"She's not helping you! Don't be stupid, Sam, haven't I taught you anything?"

"You don't understand!" Sam retorted. "I'm doing things I never would've been able to do without her. A lot of things, Dean. She's gonna help me to kill Lilith."

"In exchange for what, Sam?" he shouted, brokenly. "Your soul?"

"No," he shook his head. "They just want one thing from me, Dean. One thing, and I can go get revenge for what happened to you. That's why I'm here." Other-Sam turned to a small table that sat beside the rack and picked up a blade, twisting it in his fingers.

"W-what...what are you doing, Sam?" Dean asked, shakily.

"They want me to break you, Dean," he replied, turning back to his brother. "That's why I'm here."  
"No, Sam," Dean protested. "Don't do this. You don't know what you're doing..."

"Yeah, I do, Dean. I won't ever be the same without you. I can't bring you back. But I can kill Lilith...and in order to be able to do that, I have to do this."

"Sammy, no-" his words were turned into a scream as Other-Sam sliced into his gut.

Sam stood a few feet away, in absolute shock at what his double was doing. Tears streamed down his face as he watched his brother cry out in agony...over what he'd done. "No," he turned to Castiel. "Tell me this is a lie. Tell me this isn't true! I wouldn't do this!"

"But you did," the angel told him.

Sam's eyes shot back to his brother as he screamed out again. His heart broke as he watched himself causing Dean so much torture. He dropped to his knees. "No wonder he hates me..." he cried. "No wonder..." he covered his face as he sobbed...

*~.~*

Dean had gone to the bathroom to relieve himself. He flushed the toilet, then washed his hands, grabbing a towel on his way back into the bedroom. He froze when he saw the empty bed; the IV laying, discarded, on the bed. "Sam?" he yelled out. "Sammy?" he was suddenly running out of the room and toward the stairs.

"What's goin' on, Dean?" Bobby said as he followed after him, down the stairs.

"Sam's gone! He was sleeping. I got up to use the bathroom and then he was just gone!"

They heard the unmistakeable sound of the trunk slamming on the Impala outside. Dean made it out the door, first. "Oh god...Sammy, no!" he shouted as he saw his brother facing away from them, holding a gun to his head...

Sam turned around, allowing the older hunters to see the complete anguish written on his tear-streaked face. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he sobbed. "I'm so...so sorry..."

"Sammy, please...whatever you're thinkin' right now, please just stop!" he moved toward him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, once more, readying to pull the trigger.

"NO!" Dean shouted, fully sprinting toward him.

Suddenly, Castiel was beside Sam, and the younger Winchester turned his head just in time for the angel to touch his forehead. Sam fell, limp, dropping the gun to the ground. Dean got to him, just in time to catch him before he collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.

Dean cradled his brother to his chest, slightly rocking back and forth as he petted Sam's head. He peered up at the angel, with grateful eyes. "Thank you, Cas," he told him in a broken voice, raspy from screaming out.

The angel crouched down beside the two, just as Bobby reached them. He'd been greatly disturbed to see Sam in such a state. Unsure, exactly, why the youngest hunter had gotten to a point of wanting to destroy himself in such a way, he wasn't able to allow it. If for no one else, for Dean's sake. Though he'd stopped the tragedy from taking place, Dean seemed unrelieved, still. His body was shaking as he clung to his younger brother. Tears dripped down his cheeks, as if Sam had been successful in the act, and wasn't alive in his arms.

"What has happened here?" Castiel asked, looking to Bobby as he stood.

"Kid got attacked by Gaia, before he could kill her," he explained. "We were able to get the creature out of him, but the toxins are still running course through his body. He's been through hell and back, and we haven't been able to do much to help 'im. Past few hours, he's been havin' horrific nightmares. But we're not sure what they were about." Bobby looked down at the brothers, wishing there was something he could do to help them. "The last one must've been pretty damn bad, for him to resort to somethin' like this."

"He believes the dreams to be reality?" the angel asked.

"It's possible he couldn't tell. The first one, he said it seemed real; like it had happened that way."

"Can you help him?" Dean asked, looking back up at Castiel.

"I can try," he told him. "It may be necessary that I look into his psyche and make sense of what's been happening. There could be lasting affects. And though I can't fix something like that, I might be able to help him to cross over that bridge on his own." Dean nodded at him in understanding. "Bring him into the house," Castiel requested...


	14. Trip to Samland

Bobby ended up needing to help Dean to carry Sam back into the house. Castiel stood over Sam, where he lay on the couch. He seemed to be contemplating.

Dean was impatient and all but pacing the living room. Bobby had been watching him, worried more than he'd been since all this had started. Dean entire body was shaking; he was paler than usual and his face was etched with a combination of confusion, heartbreak and despair.

The older hunter couldn't take it anymore and he stepped in front of Dean, laying his hands on his shoulders. "Dean, ya gotta calm yourself down."

"Why would he do that, Bobby?" he asked in a small voice that sounded nothing like him. "What happened? Why would he try to do that?" his voice cracked and his breath shuddered from him. The question couldn't be answered, and he knew that. As his breath let out, so did his resolve, and Bobby couldn't help put to pull him into an embrace as the eldest Winchester broke down.

Dean wasn't the kind of man to shed tears in the presence of others, though it had happened on a few rare occasions. This, however, was the worst Bobby had seen him handle anything, since Sam's untimely demise by Jake. And even then, it was a different reaction. There was despair, yes. Anguish, even. Moments where Bobby had thought he might do something stupid, like off himself. In a way, he'd been right.

This, however, raw and open bearing of his inner torment, had never happened before, to Bobby's knowledge. He supposed it was justified, seeing as there was something a lot more disturbing about the fact that Sam was seconds away from taking his own life right in front of him. That, coupled with the fact that he had been at Sam's side through this entire situation, barely sleeping or eating, and without much mental breaks from the stress of it all, definitely made this understandable.

Dean hadn't returned the embrace, but he didn't exactly fight it, either. Eventually, he relaxed against his second-father, and allowed himself that small comfort somewhere in the back of his mind.

Dean felt cold in Bobby's arms. The shaking hadn't seemed to change, either. These things led Bobby to believe the kid might be in some kind of psychological shock. "Son, Sam's gonna be okay," he tried to reassure him. "Cas is here, now. I'm sure he can help. Ain't that right, Cas?" he looked to the angel, who was now turning toward them, at the sound of his name.

"I believe the answer lies in going into Sam's dream."

"You can do that?" Bobby asked.

"I have contacted Dean on occasion through his dreams, yes. I can do the same with Sam. But I'd like to bring Dean in with me."

Dean pulled away from Bobby and turned to the angel, "How can you do that?"

"It's only been done a handful of times over the millennium. Those who share a special bond, in this case, the strength of your brotherly love, can enter into the dream state of the other in effort to draw them from darkness. It's been done in times of great darkness, where men with an irrefutable role in destiny have fallen victim to their incapability to handle what they'd witnessed. In other words, they'd no longer been able to differentiate fiction from reality."

"And you think that's what happened to Sam?" Dean asked.

"I believe that, though Sam is not in, what you humans tend to call, a vegetative state, that he qualifies otherwise, yes."

"What do I have to do?" Dean stepped forward, ready to help.

"Sleep," Castiel replied, reaching his hand up to touch Dean's forehead. Luckily, Bobby anticipated what the angel planned to do, and caught the older Winchester before he hit the ground.

"A little warning might've been helpful," Bobby scolded.

"I apologize," Castiel replied, genuinely.

"Where do I put 'im?"

"Lie him on the floor beside the couch," the angel told him. "I need to be able to touch them both."

Bobby narrowed his eyes at Cas's choice of wording, but decided to let it slide as he laid Dean on the floor. "How long does this take, generally?"

"It varies, according to the level of psychosis he's entered. Past situations like these have lasted, sometimes, days. But those were cases of many months of suffering prior. If we are able to help Sam from this, it shouldn't take as long."

"Is Dean safe, doing this?" Bobby asked.

Castiel hesitated to reply for a moment; his eyes shifting away before meeting Bobby's again. "Physically, they are both safe. Mentally, if we're successful in pulling Sam from the darkness, Dean should be fine."

"And if you're not successful?"

"I fear that, if Sam cannot be convinced what is reality, the consequences will remain as they've gone today. I believe that Dean will, more than likely, not be happy with the results. In the past, these unsuccessful missions have led to an incredible amount of guilt from the second party. Dean is no stranger to those types of feelings. My fear is that he'll not be able to let go of it."

"Well then," Bobby let out a breath, "You better be damned sure you're successful."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the hunter, and then nodded, before turning to the brothers and placing gentle hands over their faces...

Dean found himself in an unfamiliar, dark room. "Hello?" he called out. "Cas?"

"I am here, Dean," he heard beside him.

"What's goin' on? Why can't I see anything?"

"When I put Sam to sleep, I pushed him into a deeper realm of unconsciousness, so that he would be without the haunting dreams until we could arrive. I must warn you that we may become separated. Dreams oftentimes scatter around in several directions before meeting at one single point."

"I'll pretend I understand what that means," Dean replied.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

Within seconds, the room began to transform. It was still dark, but not so much that he couldn't see. There were flashes of images before him; nothing that really made much sense. It was as if he were inside a television while someone flipped through the channels.

When it finally stopped, he saw Sam curled up in the corner of a dingy looking room. Dean looked to his side, where he'd heard Castiel speak to him earlier, but no one was there. He focused his attention back on Sam.

Walking toward his younger brother, he tried to make out what he was doing; his face was hidden behind his bent knees and his arms were folded up across his stomach. "Sammy?" he called out in a soft voice.

Slowly, Sam rose his head to look at him. That same lost and anguished look that he'd had in front of Bobby's house, was still there; tears and all. "Dean?" his voice cracked, hoarse from crying, no doubt.

"Sammy, I'm here to help you," he told him, crouching down in front of him.

Sam shook his head, "Why? Why do you want to help me? You hate me..."

Dean flinched at those words, "I could never hate you, Sam. Why would you think that?"

"Because you told me so. You have every right to hate me, Dean," his tears renewed. "After what I did to you...I understand, now. I hate me, too..."

"There's nothin' you could ever do to make me hate you," Dean put a hand on Sam's knee. "You're my baby brother; I'll always love you, ya got that?"

"No...No, I won't let you. Not after what I did to you, Dean. I deserve to die. Not to be forgiven."

"What is it that you think you did, Sam?" Dean grew frustrated.

Sam looked past him a bit, and Dean turned to follow his line of sight. His eyes grew at the display before him. Alastair stood beside his double...he was on the rack and looked to be ready for more slicing and dicing.

"How could you possibly-" Dean was cut off when Alastair began to speak, telling his double what he had in store for him. That's when Sam's double came into the room. Dean narrowed his eyes, "Sam, this never happened," he began.

"Cas showed me, Dean. I know everything now."

"Whatever you think you-" he was cut off again as Sam's double began speaking to Dean's double. He was appalled at the conversation; nauseated by this extreme fabrication, and he wondered how any of this could possibly have been planted in Sam's head.

When Sam's double began cutting into his, Dean turned away to face his brother again, "This is bullshit, Sam," he told him. "None of this ever happened. I was there, remember? I would know this. And it's not true. You were never there. You think it's that easy to take a day-trip into Hell?"

"How else do you explain this, Dean?" Sam said, tearfully. "How else do you explain why you don't love me anymore? Why you never wanna see my face again? You left... You left me and I get that, now. But why are you here, trying to tell me everything is okay?"  
"Sam..."

"I'm taking care of it, okay? I'll be gone; out of your life soon enough," he raised his arms from their hidden place between his legs and chest, to reveal the open and oozing wounds on his wrists.

"Oh god, Sam," Dean couldn't help the gut-wrenching feeling that overwhelmed him at the sight. Even if it was a dream, it still disturbed the hell out of him. "No, you can't do this stuff," he grabbed Sam's arms, closing the wounds by wrapping his hands securely around them. "This isn't real; not any of it."

Sam looked at him, confused. "Castiel showed me the truth, Dean. After you left, he showed me why you didn't want anything to do with me anymore. He showed me what you finally remembered about being in Hell, and this is it; it was me that you couldn't remember. I'm the reason you broke when you were down here. I betrayed you in the worst way possible. It's no wonder you snapped and took pleasure in tearing those souls apart...That was all because of me..."

"No, Sammy," Dean's eyes filled with unshed tears. "I remember the moment I broke. I remember every moment leading up to it, and you most definitely were not there for it. This," he indicated behind him, "This isn't real. It's a lie. It's all in your head, Sam. You remember being attacked?"

"What?"

"Do you remember us hunting Gaia? When you were attacked before she burned up?" he clarified. Sam's eyes darted around before settling on Dean's again, and he nodded. "You were poisoned, and you've been having nightmares. You remember that first one, where your mind made you think she'd killed me in that field? That's the same as this, Sam. None of this is real, either. This is all just a big nightmare. The real Castiel brought me in here to help pull you out, before you could try to hurt yourself again..." his voice cracked.

Sam was shocked as he watched the anguish blossom on his brother's face in the final words of his explanation. Tears streamed from the older brother's eyes. "Dean...?" Sam moved his hand toward his brother's shoulder as he tried to absorb what he'd been told.

"Sammy, how could you ever believe that I'd ever hate you?" his voice cracked again. "Sometimes you piss me off, sure," he cocked his head, shrugging in attempt to stem the flow of emotion that seemed to be flooding from him. "Sometimes you make me really angry... But, Sam...Sammy, I could never hate you. Not ever," he whispered, meeting his eyes again.

Sam seemed to start making connections, then. It began to become clear that some of the things that he'd seen, hadn't made much sense. But why had it seemed so real? Was this even real?

"Please," Dean pleaded. "If there was ever a time I needed you to trust me, it's right now, Sam. Please...you have to trust me, here..."

Sam's eyes darted back and forth between his brother's. There had been so many times he should've believed in Dean, that he hadn't; so many regrets for having thought he was right and his older brother was just trying to tell him he was stupid. He couldn't let that happen again...

"Dean..." he pushed forward, enveloping his anguished brother into an embrace...


	15. Terms

"Are you prepared to return?" Castiel asked the brothers. He'd been standing out of their view for just a few minutes, feeling that it was necessary to give them their privacy. But it seemed, now, that Dean had managed to convince Sam that this nightmare was not reality. It was a good time to get out of there, especially after the things Castiel had come across in his detour through Sam's other nightmares.

Dean stood, bringing Sam up with him. "Yeah, Cas. We're good to go," he told the angel. "When we're back, can you and Bobby give us a minute?"

"You wish to confer with Sam, alone?" he verified.

"Yes, please."

"Very well," the angel agreed, then placed his hands on their shoulders.

Dean suddenly found himself looking up at the ceiling from his place lying on the floor. He turned his head, noting Castiel was leading Bobby out of the room, then pushed himself up from the floor and turned to his brother, who was still lying on his back on the couch.

But once Sam caught sight of Dean, he pushed himself up off of the couch and pulled his brother into a real embrace. "That was real, right?" Sam asked. "What just happened in the dream..."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied, returning the embrace just as tightly. And suddenly, all the images returned to him from earlier; Sam holding that gun to his head... Sam showing him his bloody wrists in the dream... "Never do that to me again," he wanted to shout, but it came out as a broken sob, and he held him tighter, to ensure his tortured eyes could remain unseen.

Sam's face scrunched a bit at the pain in his brother's voice. "I'm sorry, Dean," he told him. "The dreams...they just seemed so...real."

"I don't care!" he pulled away, looking Sam in the eyes. "I don't care how real or logical anything might ever seem to you, Sam! You never...never try and do that again..."

"Dean...I'm sorry. I won't. I promise, I won't ever..."

"I mean, what the hell?" he raised his brows. "Even if I had hated you, which wouldn't happen, why the hell would you..." he couldn't even bring himself to finish the question. "Why? When you could go off and live your own life...make something for yourself!"

Sam narrowed his eyes before opening them again and raising his brow. "Why would I kill myself?" he asked in a low voice. Dean just glared at him. Sam sunk back down to sit on the couch; eyes darting around the room. "I've tried...life without you, Dean," he told him. That was true on several occasions. One, he was fairly sure Dean would never know about; at the mystery spot, when Dean died that last time, and was gone for six months. His life during that half of a year was methodical and mechanical and...farther from living than he could ever have imagined at that point.

Neither of them could forget the other time, when Dean went to Hell those four months. Well, four for Sam, anyway.

And of course, life away from Dean voluntarily. Thinking it'd be safer for everyone that way, and having left him in order to stay out of the life of hunting. It just...wasn't meant to be, clearly. He'd been miserable.

"I don't know how to explain it," Sam continued. "We're not like other people, obviously. But as a family, we're really not like anyone else, either. We're more than that, Dean. It's...probably weird, I guess. It's like I'm not whole when you're gone. I can't...be here if you're not here with me... There's no apple pie life for either of us, and hunting is just a part of that."

Dean had listened, speechless at first; baffled by what his brother was telling him. "That's not true, Sam. You can't stand around thinkin' if one of us goes, we're both screwed."

"Oh really?" Sam cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "Then why did you make that crossroads deal?"

"That was different..."

"How? How is that different, Dean?" Sam asked. Dean's eyes darted around. "It's not different at all," Sam continued. "Face it; as chick-flick as it might sound," he said with a slight smirk, "It's a fact..."

He didn't need to say it. They didn't like life without the other around. They didn't do life very well, when the other wasn't in it. Sam, especially, didn't like who he was, without his brother in his life. There was no going back to his old life. Hell, there never really was a real life back there; just deception and lies and inevitability. He'd been lying to himself, back then; thinking he could have what he'd wanted: normalcy. Or at least, that's what he'd thought he'd wanted. Really, he just didn't want to be what fate had laid out for him to be. But there was no way out of that. There was twisting and changing of the destination; but no real escape from the path. He'd come to terms with that, though. As long as he could walk that path with his brother.

Dean knew, all too well, what Sam had meant. As much as he longed to deny it, he was right; there was no way he'd have been able to go on without his little brother. If that demon hadn't been willing to make the deal, he would've gone back to that shack and ended his own life, right beside him.

What a completely messed up, terrifying freaking thought... But those were the facts.

Dean didn't have a return argument. What he had was a grim and horrific sense of acceptance that he hoped to God would never again be back on the table.

He met Sam's eyes, let out a long breath, and nodded shortly to him, "Alright, Sammy... What say we change the channel on this chick-flick, then. Want a beer?"

Sam crinkled his nose, attempting, but failing, not to smile at Dean's desperation to change the subject. "Sure..." he stood and followed Dean to Bobby's kitchen.

"So, you're feelin' okay, then?" he asked as he opened the fridge.

"Yeah, actually," Sam replied. "I'm glad Cas showed up, for more than the obvious reason. It would've taken weeks to get back to walking normally, after my hip..."

"You remember that?" Dean turned around, holding two bottles of beer, and stood there for a moment, waiting for his response.

"'Course," Sam replied, as if it were a silly question. "I remember everything, Dean. Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"I dunno," Dean finally stepped forward and handed him one of the bottles. "Guess I figured the meds woulda made it a bit hazy, at least. Or maybe...you'd remember what I told you after that first nightmare."

Sam held Dean's eyes as he opened his beer. "I...It's not that I didn't remember what you said, Dean," he said in a lower voice. "But...when you were...standing there, telling me how much you hated me; how much you wanted nothing more to do with me; that we...that we weren't brothers anymore..." his voice cracked, still affected by what had played out in his nightmare, even though he now knew it wasn't real. "I couldn't really think about anything but that..."

Dean appraised his younger brother who was still shaken by the memories of his night terrors. He wasn't sure how to feel, knowing how easily his own words could affect him, if he someday chose to misuse them. Though he hadn't been the one to actually say them, he felt extremely guilty.

"You know...I hope you'll remember from now on," Dean began, "That I'd never say those things to you. I'd never feel that way, Sam. I know that you'd never do what your dream showed you doing to me in Hell...so, stop dwelling in that, too."

"You didn't think I'd ever do what I did with Ruby, either, though," Sam said in a small voice. "And before you say, 'That was different,' it wasn't, really... I thought I was doing something good...in the long-run of things. Even if it seemed wrong at the time. I mean, I knew what I was doing wasn't good. But it was helping me to do something I thought was good... What my dream showed me doing to you in Hell...I believed it. That's because the explanation it gave seemed just as messed up as what I'd done with Ruby in the first place. And in a manner of speaking, I did hurt you, while you were in Hell. I hurt you when you came back, too. I lied to you over and over...and I refused to listen to you, when you were right the whole time.

So yeah, I'm kinda dwelling in it, Dean. I don't deserve your trust," his eyes welled and his voice shook a bit. "I have been a thorn in your side. Sometimes...sometimes I do think you'd be better off without me."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean nearly shouted. "Just shut the hell up, right now. We just established the fact that I wouldn't be."

"I know."

"Then you'll stop thinkin' that, right?" it was more of an order than a question.

"I'm not gonna kill myself, Dean. I told you that," he scoffed, smiling slightly; making light of the topic.

"No, it's not just enough that you're tellin' me you won't," Sam argued, furrowing his brow. "If you let that stay in your head like that, do you have any idea how easy it'll be for some thing to come along and twist the truth around? Make it a helluva lot easier to get rid of us? I mean...God Sam..." he set his beer down and ran frustrated hand into his hair as he paced. "I've gotta accept this completely messed up way we've got of thinking. But this is..." he stopped, and his eyes darted around as he dropped his hands to his sides. "We've gotta at least promise to gives things some time; ya know, make sure everything is real, before takin' that next step into absolute hopelessness."

"You're putting rules and requirements on our suicidal tendencies?" Sam smirked up at his brother, with a quirked brow.

Dean picked up a dish-towel and threw it at Sam's head. "Yes," he grunted. "You got a problem with that?"

Sam couldn't take the smile completely off his face, as he pulled the towel from where it landed on his shoulder, "Depends what they are, I guess."

"There's only one," Dean clarified. "Make absolute, one-hundred percent sure, without a single doubt in your mind, that there is absolutely no hope left, before jumpin' the damn gun." Pun intended, or not, the point was clear.

Sam dropped the smile, and put on a more serious face for his reply. "Okay. I can live with that." Pun...probably intended.

"Good," Dean picked up his beer again and held it out in front of him. Sam tapped it with his own bottle, and they made their pact. Though grim, and probably morbid to any normal person, it actually lifted a bit of weight from their shoulders.

Dean moved to sit in the chair at the table, across from Sam, as they drank the rest of their beer in contemplative silence. Tomorrow, they'd pack up their things and be back on the road like nothing had ever happened there. All they'd leave with, was knowing a little more about each other, and a lesson having been learned. That was true for pretty much every place they'd ever ended up in.

That was probably how every place they'd end up in from here on out would end, too.

But for now, they sat and enjoyed each others company for what it was worth. Only, now they knew it was worth a helluva lot more than they'd known it was before. As long as they traveled the inevitable road of horrors that lay ahead, those horrors would be a little less terrifying; a little more bearable, because they'd be traveling it together.

That carried a lot of meaning, before.

Now, maybe, it carried a lot more...

~Fin~


End file.
